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DAYS ON THE ROAD 




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DAYS ON THE 
ROAD 

Crossing the Plains in 1865 



BY 



SARAH RAYMOND HERNDON 



^ 



New York 
BURR PRINTING HOUSE 

1902 






Copyright, 1902, 
By Sarah Raymond Herndon. 



Received frorn 
Copyright O^^'--^. 



DEDICATED TO 

THE PIONEERS OF MONTANA AND 

THE "GREAT WEST," 

Who Crossed the Plains in Wagons. 



PREFACE. 

I do not expect to gain fame or fortune by 
the publication of this httle book. I have 
prepared it for pubHcation, because a num- 
ber of the pioneers who read my journal 
twenty years ago, when published in The 
Husbandman, have asked me to. 

At that time I was a busy wife, mother 
and housekeeper, and could only write when 
my baby boy was taking his daily nap, to 
supply the copy for each week. No one 
knows better than I how very imperfect it 
was, yet many seemed to enjoy it, and the 
press that noticed it at all spoke very kindly 
of it. 

S. R. H. 



REMINISCENCES OF THE PLAINS 

BY DR. HOWARD. 

Editor Husbandman. — Through your 
kindness to Mrs. Howard, we are a reader 
of your excellent journal. Hence a few 
months ago our eyes fell upon "Reminis- 
ences of Pilgrimage Across the Plains in 
1865," by S. R. H., and at once recognized 
the writer as the "lady who rode the gallant 
bay." And now, sir, as we were an humble 
member of the gallant McMahan train, fre- 
quently referred to in her interesting jour- 
nal, permit me through the columns of your 
paper to tender her the thanks and gratitude, 
not only of ourselves, but every surviving 
member of that train, for affording us the 
pleasure of again traveling that eventful 
road without the fatigue and hardships of a 



X DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

long and tiresome journey. And even now, 
after the lapse of fifteen years, to be so pleas- 
antly reminded of our "Gallant Bearing" 
and the confidence reposed in us for protec- 
tion, while passing through the Indian coun- 
try, we almost regret that the savages did 
not give us a striking opportunity of dis- 
playing our prowess. It was our pleasure 
to form the acquaintance of the writer, as 
correctly stated, on the north bank of the 
South Platte, near the foot of Fremont's Or- 
chard. The present editor of the Husband- 
man, then a beardless youth, had been suf- 
fering with typho-malarial fever from the 
time we left Nebraska City, and we visited 
her camp (ostensibly) begging bread, and 
obtained as good as was ever baked upon the 
plains. From this time on, at least for some 
hundreds of miles, it was our pleasure to 
meet her on the road and in camp. We were 
in different trains, but camped near each 
other every night for protection from the 
Indians. Very soon, somehow or other, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. xi 

when our trains were preparing to drive out 
every morning, and Miss R. was mounting 
Dick, we were in the act of mounting our 
pony Jo, and even at this day, in thinking 
over the matter, I am induced to beUeve that 
our ponies became somewhat attached to 
each other, as they would instinctively fall 
into each other's company. This was the 
state of affairs existing at Elk Mountain, 
where the bouquet was gathered and pre- 
sented, and where, it is frankly admitted, 
we became somewhat partial. 

Well do we recollect the crossing of 
North Platte, that turbulent stream on the 
Fort Halleck route. Train after train was 
crossing all day long. We were standing on 
the bank , with Captain McMahan, when 
the Hardinbrooke train, the one in which 
she was traveling, approached the crossing, 
and we discovered Miss Raymond on the 
front seat of the wagon, with lines in hand, 
in the attitude of driving. We remarked, 
''Good gracious, look yonder, is it possible 



xii DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Miss Raymond is going to drive that team 
across this terrible stream alone?" 

"Now/' said Captain McMahan, "is the 
time to show your gallantry." 

And before we could think twice, she 
drove bravely in. Of course we mounted Jo 
and followed after her, and here on a little 
island in the middle of the river is where 
we rode up and congratulated her on her 
skill as a driver. As we approached the 
place of our destination our trains became 
separated. Miss R. preceded us a few days 
to the Golden City. It was our pleasure, 
however, to visit her in the little domicile 
mentioned in her narrative, and 

Talk our troubles over, our journey through at last, 
And in her happy presence we forgot the gloomy 
past. 

We sojourned in Virginia City but a short 
time, then crossed a tributary of the Mis- 
souri near their confluence, and wintered 
at Diamond City Confederate Gulch. The 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. xiii 

June following we returned to our native 
State. 

A year after our return Captain Mc- 
Mahan and myself received cards announc- 
ing the nuptials of Miss Raymond and 
Mr. Herndon, which cards now occupy re- 
ceivers on our center tables, for which we 
were ever thankful, and at which time, of 
course, the bouquet crumbled to dust. And 
now wishing the "lady who rode the gallant 
bay" and the lucky gentleman whose home 
she makes happy, long life and the enjoy- 
ment of a Montana home ; I am, 
Truly yours, 

W. Howard. 



PRESS NOTICES. 

"Crossing the Plains in 1865," is the title under 
which a lady in the Rocky Mountain Husbandman, 
is publishing a series of letters. The story of every- 
day life on the plains is so prettily written, that these 
papers repay perusal. We have been charmed by 
the native grace of the author, and we send her our 
compliments whoever she may be. We crossed the 
plains the same year, also, six years before, and we 
can fully appreciate the experience of our unknown 
friend who writes so charmingly. — Stock, Farm and 
Home Weekly. 

In this issue we close our narrative of pleasure, 
trials, etc., of a trip across the great American plains 
in 1865. It has been a plain, simple story and true 
to life and full of interest to Montana's oldtimers, 
and all who made the journey of the plains in 
wagons. To the editor of this paper it has been a 
story of particular interest, for he, a beardless boy 
then, crossed the plains, was a member of the Mc- 
Mahan train, the sick man for whom Dr. Howard 
often went foraging for bread. — Rocky Mountain 
Husbandman. 

"Crossing the Plains in 1865," is the title of a 
story which was written by a well-known lady of 
Virginia City, for the Rocky Mountain Husband- 
man, and came to a conclusion in the last number 
of that paper. 

It was a plain, unvarnished recital of the experi- 
ences of the journey across the plains when ox- 



xvi DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

trains were the favorite conveyances, and the voy- 
agers were subjected to many vicissitudes unknown 
to travelers of the present day. Though quite un- 
pretentious as to literary merit, it has been interest- 
ing in recalling to the minds of the pioneers, who 
have read it, the eventful scenes of their own pil- 
grimage, and to them, it has been pleasant reading. — 
Madisonian. 

"I have felt a deep interest in S. R. H.'s, 'Crossing 
the Plains in 1865,' all through these long series of 
letters, and many a familiar spot has been brought 
back to me that had long been forgotten. And as 
some of the actors in the play live in Challis. I will 
say to S. R. H., that Mrs. Hardinbrooke is still loved 
by a large circle of friends, and that little Annie is 
now a blooming young lady, and ever worthy the 
good-bye kiss ; that the Captain has never disgraced 
the title bestowed in 1865. 

"I am, Mr. Editor, respectfully yours, 

"O. E. Penwell.^' 



DAYS ON THE ROAD 



WE START. 

May I. 

As I sit here in the shade of our prairie- 
schooner, with this blank book ready to 
record the events of this our first day on the 
road, the thought comes to me : 

''Why are we here? Why have we left 
home, friends, relatives, associates, and 
loved ones, who have made so large a part 
of our lives and added so much to our hap- 
piness?" 

"Echo answers 'Why?'" 

"The chief aim in life is the pursuit of life, 
liberty, and happiness." Are we not taking 
great risks, in thus venturing into the wilder- 
ness ? When devoted men and women leave 
home, friends and the enjoyments of life to 



2 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

go to some far heathen land, obeying the 
command : ''Go, preach my Gospel, to every 
creature," we look on and applaud and de- 
sire to emulate them. There is something 
so sublime, so noble in the act that elevates 
the missionary above the common order of 
human beings that we are not surprised that 
they make the sacrifice, and we silently wish 
that we, too, had been called to do mission- 
ary work. 

But when people who are comfortably and 
pleasantly situated pull up stakes and leave 
all, or nearly all, that makes life worth the 
living, start on a long, tedious, and perhaps 
dangerous journey, to seek a home in a 
strange land among strangers, with no other 
motive than that of bettering their circum- 
stances, by gaining wealth, and heaping to- 
gether riches, that perish with the using, it 
does seem strange that so many people do it. 

The motive does not seem to justify the 
inconvenience, the anxiety, the suspense that 
must be endured. Yet how would the great 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 3 

West be peopled were it not so ? God knows 
best. It is, without doubt, this spirit of rest- 
lessness, and unsatisfied longing, or ambi- 
tion — if you please — which is implanted in 
our nature by an all- wise Creator that has 
peopled the whole earth. 

This has been a glorious May-day. The 
sky most beautifully blue, the atmosphere 
delightfully pure, the birds twittering joy- 
ously, the earth seems filled with joy and 
gladness. God has given us this auspicious 
day to inspire our hearts with hope and joy- 
ful anticipation, this our first day's journey 
on the road across the plains and mountains. 

It was hard to say good-bye to our loved 
and loving friends, knowing that we were 
not at all likely to meet again in this life. I 
felt very much like indulging in a good cry, 
but refrained, and Dick and I were soon 
speeding over the beautiful prairie, overtak- 
ing Cash, who had lingered behind the 
others, waiting for me. 

"A penny for your thoughts, Cash?" 



4 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

"I was wondering if we will ever tread 
Missouri soil again?" 

''Quite likely we shall, we are young in 
years, with a long life before us, no doubt 
we will come on a visit to Missouri when we 
get rich." 

We were passing a very comfortable look- 
ing farmhouse, men, women, and children 
were in the yard, gazing after us, as we can- 
tered past. 

"Don't you believe they envy us and wish 
they were going, too ?" 

"No, why should they?" 

"Oh, because it is so jolly to be going 
across the continent; it is like a picnic every 
day for months; I was always sorry picnic 
days were so short, and now it will be an all 
Summer picnic." 

"I wish I felt that way; aren't you sorry 
to leave your friends?" 

"Of course I am, but then I shall write 
long letters to them, and they will write to 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 5 

me, and I will make new friends wherever T 
go, and somehow I am glad I am going." 

After we came within sight of our cara- 
van we walked our ponies, and talked of 
many things, past, present, and future. 
When within a mile or two of Memphis our 
first camp was made. Our six wagons, with 
their snow-white covers, and Mr. Ker foot's 
big tent, make a very respectable looking 
camp. 

OUR I^IRST CAMP. 

As we were provided with fresh bread, 
cake, cold chicken, boiled ham, pickles, pre- 
serves, etc., supper was quickly prepared for 
our small family of four, and we enjoyed it 
immensely. Then comes my time to write, 
as I have promised friends that I will keep a 
journal on this trip. Mr. Kerfoot thinks the 
Government is going to smash and green- 
backs will not be worth one cent on the dol- 
lar, so he has turned all his money into gold 
coin, and stowed it into a small leather 



6 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

satchel — it seems quite heavy to lift or 
carry. 

As Mrs. Kerfoot was sitting on a camp- 
chair near our wagons, Mr. Kerfoot came 
toward her, saying, ''Here, mother, I want 
you to take care of this satchel, it is all we 
will ask you to do, the girls will cook and 
wash dishes, the boys take care of the stock, 
and I will oversee things generally, and we 
will do nicely." She accepted the responsi- 
bility without a word, and as he walked away 
she turned to me, and said, "I wish it was in 
some good bank, I expect nothing else but 
that it will be stolen, and then what will be- 
come of us?" 

While I have been writing Neelie (Cor- 
nelia) and Sittie (Henrietta) have been get- 
ting supper for a family of twelve, no small 
undertaking for them, as they have been 
used to servants and know^ very little about 
cooking. 

When everything was ready, Neelie came 
to her mother exclaiming, "Come, mamma, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 7 

to supper, the first ever prepared by your 
own little girl, but not the last I hope, see 
how nicely the table looks, Emma and Delia 
picked those wild flowers for you, how 
brightly the new tinware shines, let us imag- 
ine it is silver and it will answer the same 
purpose as if it were." 

Her mother smiles cheerfully, as she takes 
her arm, Cash sneers at Neelie's nonsense — 
as she calls it. Mr. Kerfoot nods approval, as 
Neelie escorts her mother to the table. When 
all are seated Mr. Kerfoot bows his head and 
asks God's blessing on the meal. 

Every one seems to enjoy this picnic style 
of taking supper out of doors, and linger so 
long at the table, that Neelie has to hint that 
other work will have to be done before dark. 
When at last the table is cleared, she says 
to Emma and Delia, "Don't you want to help 
me wash these nice, bright dishes and put 
them away?" 

They are always ready to help Neelie, and 
the work is soon done. Amid laughter and 



8 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

fun they hardly reaHze they have been at 
work. Mr. Kerfoot insists that we women 
and the children must sleep in houses as long 
as there are houses to sleep in. Mother and 
I would greatly prefer sleeping in our spring- 
wagon, to making a bed on the floor in a 
room with so many, but as he has hired the 
room we do not want to seem contrary, so 
have offered no objection. The boys have 
carried the mattresses and bedding into the 
house, and Neelie has come for me to go with 
her to arrange our sleeping-room. So good- 
night. 

THROUGH MEMPHIS. 

May 2. 
We were up with the sun this morning 
after a night of refreshing and restful sleep. 
Neelie and I commenced folding the bed- 
clothes, ready to be sent to the wagons, when 
she startled me with a merry peal of laugh- 
ter, ''Look here. Miss Sallie, see ma's treas- 
ure, she has left it on the floor under the 
head of her bed. Don't say anything, and I 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 9 

will put it in the bottom of a trunk, where it 
ought to be, and we will see how long it will 
be before she misses it." 

She thought of it while at breakfast, and 
started up excitedly, "Neelie daughter, did 
you see that precious satchel ?" 

*'Yes, ma, I have taken care of it, and put 
it where it will not be left lying around loose 
any more." 

''Thank you, my dear, I am glad you have 
taken care of it." 

"Why, mother, I did not expect you to 
carry that burden around on your arm by 
day, and sleep with it at night. I only in- 
tend for you to have entire charge of it, and 
put it where the rest of us do not know the 
hiding place, so that when we are obliged to 
have some, we will have to come to you to 
get it. And then give it sparingly, for much, 
very much depends upon what is in that 
satchel." 



10 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

a MEET AN ACQUAINTANCE. 

We came to Memphis about nine a.m. 
Court is in session, several friends and ac- 
quaintances, who are attending court, came 
to the wagons to say good-bye. Mother's 
brother, Uncle Zack, was among them, he 
said, "Remember, when you wish yourselves 
back here, that / told you not to go." 

"Yes, we will when that times comes and 
send you a vote of thanks for your good ad- 
vice," I replied. 

Cash, Neelie and I have been riding our 
ponies all day. We are stopping in a beau- 
tiful place for camping, near the farmhouse 
of a Mr. and Mrs. Fifer. They are very 
pleasant elderly people, who have raised a 
family of six children, who are all married, 
and gone to homes of their own. It is a de- 
lightfully homey home, yet it seems sad that 
they should be left alone in their old age. 
We will sleep in the house again to-night, I 
shall be glad when we get to where there are. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. ii 

no houses to sleep in, for it does not seem 
like camping out when we sleep in houses. 
Cash and Neelie want to sleep in the tent, 
but their father says no, and his word is law 
in this camp. 

Wednesday, May 3. 

Brother Hillhouse discovered very early 
this morning that the tire on one of the 
wheels of the ox-wagon was broken. He 
started off ahead of the rest of the wagons to 
find a blacksmith shop and get it mended by 
the time we would overtake him. It was ten 
o'clock when we came to the shop, near a 
flour-mill. There was a very bad piece of 
road before we crossed the creek, a deep 
ditch had been washed out by the Spring 
rains. I waited to see the wagons safely 
over, when some one came beside my pony 
with outstretched hand saying, ''Good-morn- 
ing, Miss Raymond, I see you are in earnest 
about crossing the plains." 

"Why, how do you do, Mr. Smith ? Am 



12 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

glad to see you, of course I am in earnest 
about crossing the plains, but where did you 
come from? I supposed you would be at 
the Missouri River before this time, have you 
turned back?" 

"Oh, no, we are waiting for better roads 
and good company." 

"Come, go with us, I will promise you 
good company, and the roads will improve." 

"Where are Cash and Neelie? I have not 
seen them." 

"They did not stop, when I waited to see 
the wagons over the difficulties." 

"Then I have missed seeing them; was in 
the mill when they passed. Remember me 
to them. We will start again to-morrow, 
and will overtake you in a few days, per- 
haps." 

"Hope you will, good-bye until we meet 
again." 

"Farewell, may you enjoy as pleasant a 
trip as you anticipate." 

"Thank you," and waving him good-bye, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 13 

I spoke to Dick, and he cantered up the hill 

past the mill and the wagons. I soon caught 

up with Cash and Neelie. 

''Guess who I saw at the mill?" 

''Did you see any one we know?" 

"Yes, an especial friend of yours. Cash, 

Bob Smith, of Liberty." 

"Oh, dear, I wish I had seen him. Was 

Thad Harper with him? Are they going 

back home?" 

"No; they are waiting for better roads and 

good company. I did not see Thad Harper. 

Bob said they will overtake us in a few 

days." 

"I hope they will, they would be quite an 

addition to our party." 

AN ADDITION TO OUR PARTY. 

"Yes, but they won't; do you suppose they 
are going to let us see them cooking and 
washing dishes? Not if they know them- 
selves. Then they would have to play the 



14 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

agreeable once in a while, and that is what 
they are not going to do on a trip of this 
kind. I do not expect to see them, they 
would rather stay where they are another 
week than join our party." 

"I believe you are right, Neelie, for he did 
not say good-bye as if he expected to see me 
very soon." 

When it was time to stop for lunch, we 
found a very nice place and waited for the 
wagons. While at lunch we saw an emigrant 
wagon, drawn by three yoke of oxen, coming 
up the road, and were somewhat surprised 
to see it turn from the road and come toward 
our camp. It proved to be Mr. John Mil- 
burn, of Etna, and his sister Augusta. They 
have traveled in one day and a half the dis- 
tance we have been two and a half days com- 
ing. 

Miss Milburn is a very intelligent, well- 
educated young lady, some two or three 
years my senior. We are not very well ac- 
quainted with her, but have met her fre- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. i5 

quently, and have known of her several 
years. She is an active member of the Pres- 
byterian Church at Etna. She has her little 
nephew, Ernest Talbot, with her. He is 
seven years old, her sister's dying gift, a very 
bright child and considerably spoiled, but 
dear to his auntie's heart as her own life. 
They have started to Montana to get rich in 
the gold mines. Mr. Milburn leaves a wife 
and two small children with his widowed 
mother, to watch, and wait, and pray for his 
success and safe return home. 

We crossed the dividing line — though we 
did not see it — between Missouri and Iowa 
soon after noon, and it is very probable some 
of us will never tread Missouri soil again. 
As we were coming through Stilesville, a 
small town this side the line, there were sev- 
eral loafers in front of a saloon who acted 
very rudely, to say the least. 

We distinctly heard such remarks as the 
following, "Whew, what pretty girls, and 
how well they ride — Missourians I'll bet." 



i6 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

"Say, boys, let's try our luck; maybe we 
can each hook a pony to-night?" 

Mr. Milburn's team is so tired out with 
such fast driving that we have stopped earlier 
than usual, and I have had more time to 
write. We are only two or three miles from 
Stilesville. The weather is perfect ; we will 
sleep in the wagons to-night. Mr. Kerfoot 
thinks it necessary to guard the camp. I be- 
lieve it an unnecessary precaution, for if 
those loafers at Stilesville had meant mis- 
chief they would not have expressed them- 
selves so freely. However, Ezra and Frank 
Kerfoot (Mr. Kerfoot's nephews), Sim Bu- 
ford, and Brother Hillhouse, will take turns 
standing guard, each one for two hours. 

Thursday, May 4. 
Oh, how we did sleep last night, dreamless 
and sound. Our first night in the wagons 
was undisturbed and sweet. We were up 
with the birds making ready for an early 
start. Mother prepares breakfast, while I 
roll up the beds and cover closely to protect 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. vj 

them from the dust; one of the boys milks 
the cows, while I assist mother, and when 
breakfast of hot biscuit, ham and eggs, apple- 
sauce, coffee, and breakfast- food (which I 
should have mentioned first), is over, I strain 
the milk into an old-fashioned churn that is 
big at the bottom and little at the top, cover 
closely and fix it in the front of the freight 
wagon, where it will be churned by the mo- 
tion of the wagon, and we have a pat of the 
sweetest, most delicious butter when we stop 
in the evening that an}^ one ever tasted. 
Mother washes the dishes, we prepare lunch 
for our noon meal, I stow it in the grub-box 
under the seat in the spring-wagon, the boys 
take the pipe off the little sheet-iron stove, 
empty the fire out and leave it to cool, while 
I am putting things away in the places where 
they belong. It is wonderful how soon we 
have learned to live in a wagon, and we seem 
to have an abundance of room. 

When horses are harnessed, oxen yoked 
— and everything ready to start, we girls 



iS DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

proceed to saddle our ponies; some of the 
boys usually come and offer assistance, which 
is politely declined, as we are going to wait 
upon ourselves on this trip. 

The wagons start, leaving us to follow at 
our leisure. We don our riding-habits, made 
of dark-brown denim, that completely cover, 
and protect us from mud and dust, tie on our 
sun-bonnets, mount our ponies unassisted, 
and soon overtake and pass the wagons. 

We started this morning at seven o'clock. 
It is delightful riding horseback in the early 
morning. 

BLOOMFIELD, IOWA. 

We were on the lookout for Bloomfield, 
about ten o'clock we could see the spires and 
steeples glittering in the sunshine. When 
we reached the suburbs we stopped to wait 
for the wagons. 

When we reached the business part of the 
city, I dismounted and made ready to do 
some shopping, as a few necessary articles 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 19 

had been forgotten when purchasing our out- 
fit. 

''Aren't you going with me, girls?" 

"Oh, dear, no; not in these togs, short 
dresses, thick shoes, sun-tx)nnets, etc." 

"I think we appear much better in our 
short dresses, thick shoes, and sun-bonnets 
than we would in trailing skirts, French kid 
shoes, and hats of the latest style, especially 
as we are emigrants, and not ladies at home. 
However, I do not wish you to suffer morti- 
fication on my account, some one of the boys 
will go with me." 

''May I go. Miss Sallie?" Ezra asked. 

"Certainly, and thank you to." 

We called at two drug stores, one grocery 
and several dry-goods establishments, and 
made several small purchases. The clerks 
seemed quite interested, and asked numerous 
questions. Some wished they were going, 
too ; others thought we had a long, hard jour- 
ney before us. 



20 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

When we came back, they were waiting 
for us. I gave the satchel containing the 
purchases into mother's care, mounted Dick, 
and we were soon on the way. About a 
mile from Bloomfield we stopped for lunch 
of sandwiches, ginger-bread, cheese, fruit 
and milk. 

We all have such ravenous appetites, the 
plainest food is relished and enjoyed, as we 
never enjoyed food before. If any one suf- 
fering from loss of appetite, or insomnia, 
would take a trip of this kind, they would 
soon find their appetite, and sleep the night 
through without waking. 

Brother Winthrop wanted to ride Dick 
this afternoon, so I took passage with mother 
and drove the horses until I began to nod, 
when I gave the lines to her and climbed 
back into the wagon for an afternoon nap. 
I waked up as we were driving into Drakes- 
ville, a small but very pretty town. Mother 
and I talked the rest of the afternoon, she 
enjoys this life as much as I do; we built 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 21 

air-castles for our future habitation; I trust 
there was not enough selfishness in the build- 
ing material to hurt us if they tumble about 
our ears. 

Mother seems happier than she has since 
the war commenced, and our eldest brother, 
Mac, went into the army. We stopped for 
the night earlier than usual, about five 
o'clock. We are camping in a lane near a 
farmhouse. 

Our little sheet-iron stove is taken down 
from its place on a shelf at the back of the 
freight wagon. Mother gets dinner and pre- 
pares something for lunch to-morrow, at the 
same time. The boys buy feed from the 
farmers, as the grass is not long enough to 
satisfy the horses and cattle. I write as long 
as it is light enough to see. 

The young people complain about my tak- 
ing so much time to write, but since I have 
commenced I cannot stop. I am thinking all 
the time about what things are worth re- 
cording. 

(A call to dinner.) 



22 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

BEAUTIF^UL APPLES. 

After dinner mother washes the dishes and 
makes all the arrangements she can for an 
early breakfast. She thinks I am another 
"Harriet Beecher Stowe," so she is perfectly 
willing to do the work in the evening and 
let me write. Oh, the unselfishness of 
mothers. I do my share, of course, morn- 
ings, and at noon, but evenings I only make 
the beds in both wagons. 

We have white sheets and pillow-cases, 
with a pair of blankets, and light comforts 
on both beds, just the same as at home, and 
they do not soil any more or any quicker, as 
we have them carefully protected from dust. 

I had been writing a little while after din- 
ner, when Frank stepped up with a basket of 
beautiful red-cheeked apples in his hand, not 
a wilted one among them. 

"Where shall I put them?" 

"Oh, Frank, how lovely they are. Where 
did you get them? Thank you so much; 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 23 

they are not all for me?" — as he emptied the 
last one into the pan. ''Are all the others 
supplied? This seems more than my share." 

"Yes; they are for you, we bought the 
farmer's entire stock; the others are supplied, 
or will be without you giving them yours." 

He had just gone, when Sim Buford came 
and threw half a dozen especially beautiful 
ones into my lap. 

"Thank you, Sim, but I am bountifully 
supplied, don't you see?" 

"So you are, but keep mine, too; I can 
guess who it was that forestalled me." 
Laughing as he walked off. 

So we are feasting on luscious apples this 
evening, thanks to the generosity of our 
young gentlemen. 

Friday, May 5. 

We came through Unionville and Moravia 

to-day. Have traveled farther and later than 

any day yet. It was almost dark when we 

stopped, and raining, too; to make a bad 



24 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

matter worse, we are camping in a disagree- 
able muddy place, and have to use lanterns 
to cook by. 

We were obliged to come so far to get a 
lot large enough to hold the stock. We will 
be glad to sleep in the house to-night. 

Mrs. Kerfoot is homesick, blue and de- 
spondent this evening; she has always had 
such an easy life that anything disagreeable 
discourages her. Perhaps when the sun 
shines again she will feel all right. 

Saturday, May 6. 

This morning dawned clear and bright ; all 
nature seemed refreshed by yesterday's rain, 
and we started joyfully on our journey once 
more.. We came through Iconium early in 
the day, are camping in Lucas County, near 
a beautiful farmhouse. We expect to stay 
here until Monday, as we do not intend to 
travel on Sundays. 

It is a beautiful moonlight night, some one 
proposes a walk. As Cash is giving Win- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 25 

throp his first lessons in flirtation, they, of 
course, go togetlier; Sim and Neelie, Miss 
Milburn and Ezra are the next to start, and 
Frank is waiting to go with me. Hill stays 
in camp, in conversation with Mr. Kerfoot 
and Mr. Milburn. 

He is more like an old man than the boy 
that he is, not twenty yet. After we had 
gone a short distance. Miss Milburn asked to 
be excused, and returned to camp; Ezra, of 
course, going with her. 

We walked on for a mile or more, enjoy- 
ing the beautiful moonlight, and having lots 
of fun, as happy young people will have. 
When we returned and I had said good-night 
to the others, I climbed into the wagon to 
finish my writing for the day by the light of 
the lantern. 

The front of Mr. Milburn's wagon almost 
touches the back of ours, forming an angle. 
I had been writing a few moments when I 
heard sobbing. I was out in a jiffy, and had 
gone to the front of their wagon without 



26 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

stopping to think whether I was intruding. 
"May I come in?" I asked, as I stepped upon 
the wagon-tongue. 

"Oh, yes, come in, Miss SalHe, but I am 
ashamed to let you see me crying, somehow 
I could not help it. I felt so lonely and home- 
sick." 

"I am sorry you feel lonely and home- 
sick. Did any of us say, or do anything this 
evening that could have hurt you?" 

"Oh, no ; not at all, only I always feel that 
I am one too many, when I am with you all ; 
you seem so light-hearted and happy, so free 
from care, so full of life and fun, that I feel 
that I am a damper to your joyousness, for 
I cannot get over feeling homesick and sad, 
especially when night comes." 

"How sweetly Ernest sleeps, and how 
much he seems to enjoy this manner of life." 

"Yes ; he is a great comfort to me, as well 
as a great care. He is dearer to me than to 
any one else in the world; his father seems 
to be weaned from him, since they have been 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 27 

separated so long. He has not seen him 
more than half a dozen times since his mother 
died. I feel that he is altogether mine. May 
God help me to train him for Heaven. He 
will never know what I have sacrificed for 
him. I have a mind to tell you, if you care 
to hear, why I am here, and why I am not 
happy." 

"It may perhaps relieve you, and lighten 
the burden, to share it." 

And then she told me what I will record 
to-morrow, for it is almost midnight, and 
mother has been asleep for two hours, and I 
must hie me to bed. 

MISS milburn's love story. 

"Of course you have heard about my en- 
gagement to Jim Miller. I know it has been 
talked about." 

"Yes ; I have heard the matter discussed." 

"We have been engaged two years, and 

were to be married next month. He insisted 



28 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

that I must give up Ernest to mother. I felt 
that I would be violating a sacred trust, and 
that mother is too old to have the care of such 
a child, and I told him so. We quarreled, 
and while I was feeling hurt and indignant, 
I told Brother John I would go with him to 
Montana. He gladly accepted my offer, and 
his wife was so glad John would have some 
one to take care of him if he got sick. So 
here I am and I know I ought not to have 
come, for Jim Miller is dearer to me than 
my own life." 

''I am so sorry for you, yet I believe that 
in some way it will be for the best, you know 
the promise, 'All things work together for 
good, to those who love the Lord.' " 

"I will try to believe it. You have done 
me good, Miss Sallie. I am glad you came. 
Come again." 

Sunday, May 7. 
"Remember the Sabbath Day to keep it 
holy." Have we obeyed this command to- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 29 

day ? I fear not. We are all, or very nearly 
all, professing Christians, yet we have had 
no public worship in our camp to-day, but 
we have all, to some extent, desecrated the 
day by work. 

Deeds of mercy and necessity may be done 
on the Sabbath Day without sin, and mother 
says, "It is very necessary that our soiled 
clothes, sheets and pillow-cases should be 
washed, and that cleanliness is next to god- 
liness." 

The question comes to me. Why is it that 
Christians are so loath to talk of the things 
that pertain to their spiritual life, and eternal 
welfare? Why so backward about introdu- 
cing a service of worship, when so well 
aware it would meet with the approval of 
all? 

I felt that Mr. Kerfoot was the one to sug- 
gest a service of prayer and praise, and read- 
ing the Scriptures. Perhaps he thought some 
of the ladies would mention it, so all were 
silent, and it is numbered with the lost op- 



30 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

portunities for doing something for our Lord 
and Master. May he pardon our sins of 
omission, and may we be permitted to atone 
for the manner in which we spent our first 
Sabbath on this trip. 

We have not traveled, so our teams have 
rested and done no labor, if we have violated 
the commandment ourselves. 

The weather is perfect; this is another 
beautiful moonlight night. The young ladies 
and gentlemen have gone for another walk 
in the same order as last night, except Frank 
went with Miss Milburn, and Ezra is wait- 
ing for me. 

A LETTER TO BROTHER MAC. 

Monday, May 8. 
I left camp very early, and walked on 
alone, that I may write to Brother Mac be- 
fore the wagons overtake me. I am seated 
in a comfortable fence corner, and here goes 
for my letter : 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 31 

Lucas County, Iowa, May 8, 1865. 
Dear Brother: We were delayed sev- 
eral days after the time set for starting, when 
we wrote you to meet us at Council Bluffs 
by the loth. We thought I would better 
write, that you may know we are on the way, 
and hope to meet you by the 15th or the i6th. 
You must possess your soul with patience, 
if you get there before we do, and have to 
wait. I could write a long letter, I have so 
much to tell you, but will wait until we meet. 
Mother seems in better health and spirits 
than she has since you went into the army. 
We are enjoying the trip very much, and I 
find myself feeling sorry for the people that 
have to stay at home, and cannot travel and 
camp out. Good-bye until next week. With 
sincerest love, Your sister, 

Sarah. 

The wagons are coming in sight, just as 
my letter is finished and addressed, and ready 
to mail at the next post-office. My pony is 



32 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

in harness to-day, as one of the work horses 
is a Httle lame, so I will have to ride in the 
wagon or walk. As the morning is so fine 
I will walk until I begin to tire. 

Evening. 

Cash joined me in my walk, and we 
walked until noon. How wisely planned are 
these physical bodies of ours, how easily in- 
ured to the burdens they must bear. Before 
we started on this trip, such a walk as we 
took this morning would have completely 
prostrated us ; now, we did not feel any in- 
convenience from the unusual exercise. 

Frank invited us, Cash and I, to ride in 
his wagon this afternoon. We accepted the 
invitation, and made an emigrant visit. He 
had arranged his wagon for our convenience 
and comfort, and we spent a very pleasant 
afternoon. Frank mailed my letter at Chara- 
ton, and on his way back bought candy and 
nuts for a treat for his visitors, which we, of 
course, enjoyed exceedingly. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 33 

I should not care to ride in an ox-wagon 
all the way across the plains, but for half a 
day, once in a while, it is a pleasant change, 
especially when so delightfully entertained. 
The afternoon passed quickly. We are 
camping near a large party of emigrants, 
some of the men came to our camp. They 
look tough; they are from Pike County, 
Missouri, on their way to Oregon. 

Tuesday, May 9. 
A beautiful day for horseback riding, un- 
til late this afternoon, when it commenced 
blowing a perfect gale, too severe to travel, 
so we drove into camp early. We came 
through Ottawa and Osceola, are camping in 
Clark County. 

Wednesday, May 10. 

A very cold day for this time of year, too 

cold to think of riding horseback, so we all 

took passage in the wagons. As we have 

plenty to read, and lots of visiting to do, it is 



34 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

no hardship to ride in the wagon for a 
day. 

The boys have made a splendid camp-fire, 
and we are getting thawed out, cheered, and 
ready for a jolly evening. There was just 
one stunted oak left standing, away out here 
in this great expanse of prairie — for our 
especial benefit, it seems. The boys cut it 
down, and taking the trunk for a back-log, 
the top and branches to build the fire, we 
have a glorious camp-fire away out here in 
Union County, Iowa. It is surprising to 
find Iowa so sparsely settled, we travel some- 
times half a day and do not see a home. 
There are always a few farms near the 
towns. The settlements are the only breaks 
in the monotonous landscape. 

Oh, the tedious, tiresome monotony of 
these vast extended prairies: To look out 
and away, over these seemingly endless 
levels, as far as the eye can reach, and see 
only grass, grass everywhere, with beauti- 
ful prairie flowers, of course, but the flowers 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 35 

cannot be seen in the distance. No earthly 
consideration would induce me to make a 
home on an}^ of these immense prairie levels. 
How my eyes long for a sight of beautiful 
trees, and running streams of water; how 
delightful to stroll in the woods once more. 

Thursday, May ii. 
The wish expressed last evening is real- 
ized in a manner. We are camping in a strip 
of timber along the banks of a creek — or 
branch, rather. But then it is such a slow- 
going stream, not at all limpid, clear, or 
sparkling as a brook ought to be. It can 
hardly be called a running stream, for it goes 
too slowly. I think creeping or crawling 
would be more appropriate. We came 
through Afton to-day. 

THE ICARIAN COMMUNITY. 

Friday, May 12. 
Brother Hillhouse's birthday. He is 
twenty years old. We made a birthday cake 



36 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

for him last night. We divided it into 
twenty pieces at lunch to-day, and there was 
just enough to go around and leave two 
pieces for himself. The girls say we must 
have some kind of a jollification to-night. I 
hope they will leave me out, for I want to 
write about the 'Tcarian Community." We 
came through Queen City this morning, and 
this afternoon came to a town of French 
people, called ''The Icarian Community." 

(Call to dinner.) 

Later : They have excused me. 

But why Icarian? I cannot understand, 
for certainly they did not impress me as high 
flyers, neither as flyers at all. They seemed 
the most humdrum, slow-going, even-tenor, 
all-dressed-alike folks I have ever seen. 
Every dwelling is exactly alike, log-cabins of 
one room, with one door, one window, a fire- 
place with stick chimney. I rode close by 
the open doors of some of the houses, and 
tried to talk with the women, but we could 
not understand each other at all. The floors, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 37 

windows and everything in the houses were 
scrupulously clean, but not one bit of bright- 
ness or color, not a thread of carpet, or a rug, 
and all the women's and girls' dresses made 
of heavy blue denim, with white kerchiefs 
around the shoulders and pinned across the 
front of the waist, the skirt above the ankles, 
and very narrow and heavy thick-soled shoes. 
The men and boys all looked alike too, but I 
did not observe them closely enough to de- 
scribe them. 

There are several large, long buildings, 
one with a large bell in belfry on top of 
building. They are dining-hall, town-hall, 
school-house and two others. I did not learn 
what they are used for. All the buildings 
are one story, of the plainest architecture, 
for the one purpose of shelter from sun and 
storm. There is not a thing to ornament or 
beautify, not a shade-tree or flower, yet 
everything — men, women, children, houses, 
yards and streets — are as clean as they can be 
made. 



38 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

They are peaceable, law-abiding citizens, 
live entirely independent of the people of ad- 
joining neighborhoods. They are supposed 
to be wealthy ; the town is the center of well- 
cultivated and well-stocked farms. 

The principle upon which the community 
is founded is "Brotherly Love," a sort of co- 
operative communism, in which all things 
are the common property of all. They live 
upon what their farms produce, have vast 
herds of cattle and sheep, a fine site for their 
town, and seem the picture of contentment, 
which is better than riches. 

We stopped within sight of Quincy, and 
another camping outfit. We soon learned 
they are Mr. Harding and Mr. Morrison and 
family, from Lewis County. We are ac- 
quainted with Mr. Harding and have often 
heard of the Morrisons. 

Mr. Morrison and Mr. Harding came 
over, and the men have had a sociable, gos- 
siping time this evening; the men can sur- 
pass the women gossiping any time, notwith- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 39 

standing the general belief to the contrary. 
The young folks have been playing games 
to celebrate Hillhouse's birthday. They had 
hard work to get him to join them. 

A SWING AMONG THE TREES. 

Saturday, May 13. 
We drove only until noon, and stopped to 
stay over Sunday, so that we can do our 
washing and baking, without violating the 
Sabbath. We do not have collars and cuffs, 
and fine starched things to do up, but we 
have a great many pocket handkerchiefs 
aprons, stockings, etc. We have pretty bead 
collars made of black and white beads, tied 
with a ribbon, that always look nice and do 
not get soiled. We are in a beautiful grove 
of trees. The boys have put up a swing. 
There is nothing in the way of play that I 
enjoy as I do a good high swing. There 
are plenty of boys to swing us as high as we 
want to go. I fear the Sabbath will be dese- 



1/ 



40 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

crated with play to-morrow, if not with 
work, for the temptation to swing will be 
hard to resist. 

Sunday, May 14. 

The horses went off two or three miles last 
night, the men were all off bright and early 
this morning hunting them. Mr. Kerfoot 
found them, and came back about nine 
o'clock. By the time they were all here the 
morning's work was finished and we were 
ready — for what? 

A day to spend in rest and service for the 
Master ? Oh, no. A day spent in swinging, 
frivolous conversation, and fun. I am 
ashamed to tell it, but it is nevertheless true, 
and I believe we all thought less about a 
service of worship than we did last Sunday. 
It is so hard to get right, if we do not start 
right. 

We have visitors in camp to-night, two 
gentlemen from Clark County, neighbors of 
the Kerfoots — Mr. Suitor and Mr. Rain. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 41 

They started for the gold mines in Montana 
two or three weeks ago. After reaching the 
Missouri River they heard such frightful 
stories of Indian depredations being com- 
mitted on the plains that they sold their out- 
fit for what they could get, and are returning 
home on horseback. Poor fellows, how I 
pity any man that has so little grit. I should 
think they would be ashamed to show their 
faces to their neighbors, and say, ''We were 
afraid, so we came back home." 

I believe Mrs. Kerfoot is the only one of 
our party who would be willing to turn back, 
and perhaps she would not if it were put to 
the test. We would not like to be scalped 
and butchered by the Indians, but it does 
seem so cowardly to run away from a possi- 
ble danger. ''The everlasting arms are un- 
derneath." God can, and will, take care of 
us as well on the plains as anywhere. He is 
leading us through unknown paths. We can 
trust Him. Heaven is as near one place as 
another. 



42 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Our second Sunday has not been much of 
an improvement on our first. The first we 
worked, to-day we have played. The boys 
swung us all morning, until we were ready to 
"holler nufT." We had Sunday dinner 
between two and three o'clock, then we wrote 
letters to friends at home, read until sleepy, 
took a nap of an hour, then Mr. Suitor and 
Mr. Rain came, and we listened to their 
frightful stories of what the Indians are do- 
ing to emigrants. 

I left them in disgust, to come and record 
our misdoings of this, our second, Sunday 
on the road. It is almost bedtime, and I 
must make the beds, for we are early to bed 
and early to rise while on this trip. 



A I^ATAL ACCIDENT. 

Monday, May 15. 
Alas, alas! How can I write the disas- 
trous happenings of this day? My hand 
trembles and my pencil refuses to write in- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 43 

telligibly when I attempt to record the sad, 
oh, so sad, accident that has befallen us. We 
parted from our visitors this morning, and 
started on our way, feeling rested and glad 
to be journeying on again. How little we 
knew of what a day would bring forth. We 
stopped for lunch at noon in a little vale, or 
depression, on the prairie, but where there 
was no water. Just as we had finished our 
lunch, Neelie came, she said, to see if we 
could make an exchange for the afternoon, 
her mother riding with mine, and I with the 
young folks in the family wagon. Of course 
it was soon arranged, and I told her I would 
come as soon as I helped mother put things 
away. (We sometimes visit in this way.) 
Mrs. Kerfoot soon came around, and when 
everything was ready I started to go to their 
wagon. It was the last one in the train. As 
I was passing Mr. Milburn's wagon he called 
to me to "Come and get a drink of water." 
He had taken a long walk, and found clear, 
pure water, not very cold, but much better 



44 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

than none at all. I gratefully accepted a cup. 
He and his sister then invited me to ride with 
them. I told them of my engagement with 
Neelie, and, of course, they excused me. Oh, 
that I had accepted their invitation; just such 
a little thing as that might have prevented 
this dreadful accident. Such great events 
turn on such little hinges sometimes. About 
three o'clock in the afternoon, as we were 
plodding along after the fashion of emigrant 
teams, we young people in the last wagon, 
having a jolly sociable time, with song and 
laughter, fun and merriment, the front 
wagons stopped. Ezra, who was driving, 
turned out of the road and passed some of 
the wagons to see what the trouble was. Mr. 
Kerfoot came running toward us, calling to 
Neelie, ''Get the camphor, daughter, Mr. 
Milburn has shot himself somehow, and has 
fainted." 

Ezra got out to go with him and Neelie 
asked, ''Shall we come, too, papa?" 

"No, my daughter, you girls would better 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 45 

stay here, your ma and Mrs. Raymond are 
with Gus, and they will know what to do." 

Before he had finished what he was saying 
they were running to the place of the acci- 
dent. We could only wait, hoping and pray- 
ing, oh, so earnestly, that it might not prove 
so serious as Mr. Ker foot's manner and tone 
caused us to fear. Afterward, Winthrop 
came to us; he was pale, with compressed 
lips, and sad eyes; he came up close, leaned 
upon the wagon wheel, and said in a low 
tone, "He is dead." Oh, how dreadful. We 
all left the wagon and went to the front as 
fast as we could. 

I have gathered from witnesses the follow- 
ing account of how it happened. There was 
a flock of prairie chickens ahead of the 
wagons to the left of the road. Mr. Milburn 
and several of the boys took their guns and 
were going to try to thin their number. The 
wagons had not halted, but were moving 
slowly on, the hunters had gone on a little 
in advance of the wagons, they tried to fire 



46 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

all together, one of the boys snapped two 
caps on his gun, it failed to go off, so he 
threw the gun into the front wagon, and 
took his whip, in disgust. The wagon had 
moved on to where Mr. Milburn was stand- 
ing with his gun raised; there was a shot, 
Mr. Milburn dropped to his knees, turned 
and looked at his sister, saying, ''Gus. I am 
shot." And fell forward on his face. She 
was in the next wagon. 

BEREAVEMENT. 

Gus screamed, jumped from the wagon, 
ran to her brother, and raised his head in her 
arms. All who were near enough to hear 
her scream ran to them and she said, ''John 
has hurt himself with his gun and has 
fainted, bring restoratives quick." 

In a few seconds, there were half a dozen 
bottles, with brandy, camphor, ammonia 
there, and every effort was made to restore 
him, but all in vain. He died instantly and 
without a struggle. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 47 

When Mr. Kerfoot knew he was dead, he 
looked for the wound and found a bullet-hole 
between his shoulders. Just then one of the 
boys picked up his gun where he had dropped 
it and exclaimed, "It was not this gun that 
did the mischief, for it is cold, and the load 
is in it." 

On looking around to find where the 
deadly shot had come from, some one took 
hold of the gun in the front wagon. "Why, 
this gun is warm. It must have been 
this gun went off." 

"Oh, no ; it could not have been that gun, 
for there was no cap on it," said the boy who 
had thrown the gun there. 

Circumstances proved that it was the gun 
without a cap that did the fatal shooting. I 
would have supposed, as the boy did, that it 
was perfectly harmless without a cap. I 
have heard it said, "It is the unloaded gun, 
or the one that is supposed to be unloaded, 
that generally does the mischief." No doubt 
the hammer was thrown back when he threw 



48 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

it in the wagon. On investigating we found 
a rut in the wheel-track just where he fell. 
It is possible that when the front wheel 
dropped into the rut with a jolt the hammer 
fell, igniting the powder, either by the com- 
bustible matter that stuck, or by the flash 
occasioned by the metal striking together. 
Mr. Milburn was not opposite the wagon 
when he raised his gun to shoot, but the 
wagons were moving slowly and the front 
one came up with him as he was taking aim, 
and that was why Gus thought it was his 
own gun. She saw the smoke rise, he 
stumbled and fell to his knees, she called to 
him. ''Why, John, what made you fall?" 

He looked around at her and said, "Oh, 
Gus, I am shot." The last words he spoke. 

How hard to be reconciled to such a dis- 
pensation when such a little thing could have 
prevented it, only one step in either direc- 
tion, or the gun pointed the other way. Why, 
oh, why, has this awful thing happened? 

The poor boy seems to be as heart-stricken 



/ 

DAYS ON THE ROAD. ■ 49 

as Gtis. In her unselfish grief she has been 
trying to comfort him. 

I have read of a minister of the Gospel 
''who dreamed that he died; after entering 
the gates of Heaven he was led into a large 
empty room, on the walls of which his whole 
life was spread out as a panorama. He saw 
all the events of his life, and many that had 
been hard to understand in his lifetime were 
here made clear, and through it all the guid- 
ing, protecting hand of God had been over 
him." Perhaps Mr. Milburn is saved from 
a worse fate. 

We were about three miles from Frank- 
fort when the accident happened. We came 
on here as soon as possible — a sorrowing, 
and oh, so sorrowful, procession now. It 
does not seem that we can ever be the merry 
party that we have been. Winthrop had 
been riding Dick; he stood there, ready, 
saddled and bridled when Mr. Milburn fell; 
Frank mounted my pony and rode as fast as 
he could go to Frankfort to get a doctor. 



50 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Mr. Milburn was dead before he was out of 
sight. We met them as we came. A room 
has been rented and Mr. Milburn prepared 
for his last long sleep. The people of Frank- 
fort are very kind, and sympathetic. 

A I^UNERAL. 

Tuesday, May i6. 
The boys sat up with the corpse last night. 
I stayed with Gus. We had only just shut 
ourselves in when a terrific storm came upon 
us; the wind blew, and the rain fell in tor- 
rents. Before eleven o'clock it had passed; 
soon after Gus slept heavily. It seemed 
hours before I slept. Very early this morn- 
ing Gus awakened me praying. How surely 
do the sorrows of this life drive us to the 
mercy-seat for comfort, refuge and strength. 

"Had earth no thorns among its flowers, 
And life no fount of tears, 
We might forget our better home 
Beyond this vale of tears." 

What a precious, what a comforting, sat- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 51 

isfying faith the Presbyterian faith must be, 
if one can really and conscientiously accept 
it. According to their belief one never dies, 
nothing ever happens without God's provi- 
dence, approval, and foreknowledge that it 
will happen in just that way. 

I wish I could accept such a faith, and be- 
lieve it, but I cannot. I do not believe it was 
ordained that Mr. Milburn should die in that 
way and at that time. I believe it was an 
accident that might have been prevented by 
the most trivial circumstance. The laws of 
nature are inexorable. If a bullet is shot into 
a vital part of the body it kills. Yet God is 
able to bring good out of this seemingly 
great and grievous evil. I do not know 
which suffers most — the poor boy whose gun 
did the deed or Gus. They seem to take 
comfort in each other's society, and are to- 
gether the most of the time to-day. I am so 
sorry for both of them. 

The funeral services of the Presbyterian 
Church were held at two o'clock this after- 



52 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

noon, a resident minister officiating. Mr. 
Milburn was very nicely laid away, and his 
grave marked and enclosed with a neat, 
strong fence before Gus and I left the ceme- 
tery. The people have been so very kind. 
The funeral was largely attended for a 
stanger in a strange place. There is no tele- 
graph office here, so we have had to write 
letters instead of sending telegrams. 

I believe Gus's plans are to go on with us 
to the Missouri River, sell her outfit, and re- 
turn home by steamboat down the Missouri 
River, up the Mississippi to Canton, where 
friends will meet her and go with her to 
Etna. 

Wednesday, May 17. 
Another night with Gus. She wakes in the 
morning to weep. We started once more on 
our now sad journey. I have ridden with Gus 
all day. We do not hear the sound of song 
and laughter as we did last week; we all 
seem to be under a pall. We came through 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 53 

Redoak this morning, are camping in a beau- 
tiful place, near a pleasant, homelike farm- 
house. The weather is perfect. 

Thursday, May i8. 

The friends that stayed with us Sunday 
night told us that the authorities are not al- 
lowing emigrants to take the northern route, 
because of the Indian depredations that have 
been committed on that route. That if we 
went to Council Bluffs we would have to 
come down the river to Platsmouth to get on 
the southern route. So we changed our 
course accordingly. 

We came through Whitecloud, Glenwood 
and Pacific City to-day. At Whitecloud I 
made a few purchases, traded with a little 
German merchant who crossed the plains a 
year ago; he says we have a delightful trip 
before us. He expects to go again to the 
Rocky Mountains, and make his home there, 
as soon as he can sell out and settle up his 
business here. 



54 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Tust before we came to Glenwood, as the 
girls passed on their ponies, Gus said to me, 
''SalHe, go ride your pony, too ; you have not 
had a ride for several days. Pardon me if I 
have been selfish in my great sorrow." 

*'No, Gus, I would rather stay with you 
than to ride Dick, as long as you need me." 

"Thank you, dear ; your company has been 
very grateful to me, but now I would really 
enjoy seeing you ride through Glenwood." 

To please her, and myself, too, I soon had 
saddled and mounted Dick and overtaken the 
girls. As we were riding through Glenwood 
a photographer sent a messenger to request 
us to 'Tlease stop five minutes and let him 
take our picture." We rode to the position 
indicated, doffed our sun-bonnets, and looked 
as pleasant as we could. We did not wait to 
see the proof, and I expect he was disap- 
pointed. 

Pacific City is on the Missouri bottom, or 
lowlands. Above the town are the highest 
bluffs I have ever seen. We hitched our 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 55 

ponies and climbed to the top. The view 
was magnificently grand, the sun sinking in 
the west, the river could be seen in the dis- 
tance, with large trees on the banks, the low- 
land between the bluffs and the trees was 
dotted with cattle and horses grazing, here 
and there a pond or small lake with its wa- 
ters shining and sparkling in the glimmer- 
ing sunset, the city below us in the shadow of 
the bluffs. Everything was so sweet and 
peaceful, we were more than paid for our 
climb. I'he wagons had passed before we 
came down, so we mounted and hastened to 
overtake them before driving into camp. 

ON THE BANKS OF THE BIG MUDDY. 

Our journey across Iowa at an end, we 
are on the banks of the Big Muddy, opposite 
Platsmouth. We will stay here until Gus's 
things are sold, and we have seen her off on 
the steamboat. I stay with her nights, and 
this afternoon is the first time I have left her 
since the 15th. 



56 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Friday, May 19. 
I went over to Platsmouth on the ferry- 
boat this morning with some friends that are 
camping near us, to do some shopping for 
Gus. I bought a black bonnet, crepe veil and 
collar, and material for black suit, which we 
will make up in camp, as there is a dress- 
maker with us. I was away about five hours 
and came back tired and hungry. The 
weather is perfect. We have a very pleasant 
place to camp, and pleasant people camping 
near us. We are surrounded on all sides by 
emigrants' camps, and still they come. It 
seems like a young town, only the houses are 
built of canvas instead of lumber, brick or 
stone. The boys have put up a swing, but 
I have no time for swinging to-day. 

Saturday, May 20. 

We have had a very, very busy day. Mr. 

Kerfoot has sold Gus's wagon and team 

(three yoke of oxen) for $550, a good price 

every one says. More than they cost them, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 57 

I believe. The freight will be sold at auction. 
We have all helped with Gus's suit and it is 
almost iinished. Hillhouse went up to Coun- 
cil Bluffs this morning, expecting to bring 
Brother Mac back with him. Instead of find- 
ing him he got a letter — also the one I wrote 
a week ago — saying he was not coming. He 
has decided to study medicine and will come 
west when he is an M.D. We are disap- 
pointed, of course, yet perhaps it is for the 
best — we must try and believe so anyway. 
Most perfect weather. 

The Morrison and Harding outfit have 
come, also several other families from Lewis 
and Clark counties. The Kerfoots are ac- 
quainted with some of them. They had 
heard of the sad accident. Some of them 
were friends of Mr. Milburn. 

OUR LAST DAY WITH MISS MILBURN. 

Sunday, May 21. 
Mr. Thatcher and his wife came to call 
upon Gus this afternoon, and invited her to 



58 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

their home in Platsmouth to stay until she 
takes the steamboat for home. Mr. That- 
cher and Mr. Milburn have been friends for 
years. She accepted their invitation and will 
go there to-morrow. 

As the people from different camps were 
sitting around an immense camp-fire, not far 
from our wagons, someone proposed music. 
Some of the men in Mr. Clark's camp are 
fine musicians, they brought their violin and 
flute, and gave several instrumental pieces, 
then some familiar songs were sung and 
someone started ''J^-'^st Before the Battle, 
Mother." They had sung two verses when I 
heard a shriek from Gus's wagon. I has- 
tened to see what was the matter. "Oh, Sal- 
lie, tell them to please not sing that, I can- 
not bear it. Dear Brother John used to sing 
it so much. It breaks my heart to hear it 
now." 

I sent Winthrop, who had followed me, to 
ask them to stop singing. Poor Gus, she was 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 59 

more overcome than I have seen her since her 
bereavement. 

Monday, May 22. 

Mr. Kerfoot, Cash, NeeHe, Ezra and I 
came with Gns to Platsmouth. She said 
good-bye to mother, Mrs. Kerfoot and the 
others this morning. AH were sorry to part 
with her. She has become very dear to us 
all. Gus's freight was brought over in the 
wagon and sold at public auction and 
brought good figures, thanks to Mr. That- 
cher, who, when he saw anything going be- 
low its real value, bid it in himself. He has 
a grocery store. He and Mr. Kerfoot have 
attended to all business transactions for Gus, 
so that she has not been bothered at all, and 
have done better for her than they could have 
done for themselves. 

We have had a quiet, pleasant day with 
Gus at Mrs. Thatcher's home. She is very 
kind, and has invited us girls to stay with 
Gus until she takes the boat for home, and 
Gus begged us to stay with her as long as 



6o DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

possible ; so Cash and I are staying all night, 
and will see her on board the boat to-morrow 
morning. Neelie has returned to camp with 
her father and Ezra. 

Ernest is a great care and worries his 
auntie. He will not stay in the house, and she 
cannot bear to have him out of her sight for 
fear something will happen to him; she has 
just now undressed him, heard his little 
prayer, and put him to bed in the next room. 
So I hope we can have uninterrupted quiet 
for awhile. 

Tuesday, May 23. 
Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher, Cash and I came 
with Gus and Ernest to the steamboat. We 
parted with them about nine o'clock on board 
the "Sioux City." Dear friend, I have be- 
come greatly attached to her, in the three 
weeks we have been so intimately associated. 
May God grant her a quick and safe journey 

Note. — Miss Milburn and her lover were married 
about six months after her return, and have lived 
happily, etc. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 6i 

home. We cannot hope it will be a happy 
one. 

Cash and I came directly to camp, after 
saying good-bye to Gus; found every one 
busy getting ready for an early start to-mor- 
row. We have been here almost a week, yet 
I have not had time to try the fine swing the 
boys put up the next day after we came here 
until this afternoon. The camps that were 
here over Sunday are all gone except those 
that will travel with us. It is probable there 
will be half a dozen more camps here before 
night. It is surprising to see what a great 
number of people are going west this 
Spring. 

We hope to start very early to-morrow 
morning. I trust our party will not be so 
much like a funeral procession as it has been 
since the 15th. Vain regrets cannot remedy 
the past, and I believe it is our duty to be as 
cheerful and happy as possible in this life. 



62 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 



WE HAVE OUR PICTURES TAKEN. 

Wednesday, May 24. 

We were up with the earhest dawn, and 
our own individual outfit ready for a very 
early start, yet it was the middle of the fore- 
noon before all the wagons were landed on 
the west bank of the Missouri. It takes a 
long while to ferry fifteen wagons across the 
river. We girls rode our ponies onto the 
ferryboat. They behaved as if they had been 
used to ferryboats all their lives. As we 
were waiting near the landing a stranger* 
came, apologized for speaking to us, and 
asked, "Are you going to Montana?" 

"No, sir, our destination is California, or 
Oregon; we are not fully decided which." 

"Oh, you ought to go to Montana; that is 
the place to get rich." 

He told of his marvelous success in that 

*This man is mentioned here because of what hap- 
pened him before he reached his journey's end. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 63 

country since 1863; the Indians were men- 
tioned. He spoke of them with such con- 
tempt; said he would rather kill an Indian 
than a good dog. Says he left a wife and six 
children in Iowa, the oldest boy about four- 
teen who wanted very much to go with his 
father, but his mother needed him. Last 
night he came into his father's camp. He 
had run away from home; says he is going 
to Montana, too. His father told it as if he 
thought it smart, and a good joke. What 
sorrow and anxiety his poor mother is no 
doubt suffering. 

Cash, Neelie, Sim Buford, Ezra, Frank, 
Winthrop and I while waiting in Platsmouth 
went to a photographer's and had our pic- 
tures taken; tintype, of course, all in one 
group, then each one alone, then Sim and 
Neelie together and Cash and I on our po- 
nies. We only came five miles after our rush 
to get an early start. There are nine fami- 
lies and fifteen wagons in our train now. 
Miss Mary Gatewood has a pony for her 



64 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

especial use, so there will be four of us to 
ride horseback. There are enough wagons 
now to make quite a respectable corral. I 
did suppose, as we had been resting so long, 
we would make a long drive. Feed for the 
stock is very good here, and as it is fifteen 
miles to the next good camping place, where 
there is plenty of water and feed, it has been 
decided that we stay here until to-morrow. 
The boys have put up the inevitable swing, 
and we have concluded "that what cannot be 
cured must be endured." So we will make 
the best of it, but certainly at this rate we 
will not reach our destination before it is 
cold weather. 

Thursday, May 25. 
Oh, dear; here we are yet, only five miles 
from Platsmouth. Morrison and Harding 
have lost two fine cows, half a dozen men 
have been hunting them all day, but without 
success. There is not a doubt but that they 
have been stolen. Our stock will have to be 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 65 

herded, hereafter, to guard against thieves. 
We have spent the day reading, writing, 
sleeping, swinging, and getting acquainted 
with our neighbors. The Morrison family 
wagon is just in front of us, and the Ker- 
foot's just behind, so we are to have the most 
pleasant neighbors possible to camp next to 
us. Mrs. Morrison is almost as pretty as 
Cash, although the mother of four children ; 
she is so bright and cheerful, so full of life 
and fun, she will be great on a trip like this. 
Mr. Morrison has an impediment in his 
speech, and when he is excited — like he is 
this evening, because they cannot find their 
cows — he stutters dreadfully, and will say, 
"Or sir, or sir, or sir," until it is hard to 
keep from laughing. In ordinary conversa- 
tion and when not excited, he talks as 
straight as any one. He seems so fond and 
proud of his wife and children I like him. 
Neelie and Sim, and Frank and I took a 
stroll this afternoon in search of wild flow- 
ers. They are few and far between, yet we 



(^ DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

enjoyed the walk through the woods in this 
lovely springtime weather. 

A YANKEE HOMESTEAD. 

Friday, May 26. 
We came fifteen miles, are camping on a 
high rolling prairie, not a tree or shrub with- 
in sight ; we are near a neat white farmhouse. 
Everything seems to be very new, but does 
not have that "lick and a promise" appear- 
ance that so many farmhouses in Nebraska 
have. Things seem to be shipshape, the 
house completed and nicely painted, a new 
picket-fence, and everything on the place — 
barns, hen-house, etc., all seem well built, as 
if the owners are expecting to make a per- 
manent home. I would prefer a home not 
quite so isolated and far away from any- 
where. There do not seem to be any women 
about the place, perhaps they are coming 
when everything is ready for their comfort. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 67 

Saturday, May 27. 
We came to Ashland, on Salt River, only 
a fifteen-mile drive, got here soon after noon 
and will stay over Sunday. Several of us 
young folks went fishing this afternoon. I 
have often gone fishing but do not remember 
ever catching anything of any consequence, 
or having any luck, as the boys say, so im- 
agine my excitement and surprise when the 
fish began to bite, and I drew them out al- 
most as fast as I could get my hook baited. 
Frank baited my hook and strung the fish on 
a forked willow switch. After I had caught 
six or eight they seem so dry and miserable 
I thought they would feel better in the water, 
so stuck the willow in the bank, so that the 
fish were in shallow water. I caught another 
fish and went to put it with the others, when 
lo, they were all gone. I could have cried, 
and the rest all laughed — well, I shall try 
again. 

After securing the one I had — and leav- 
ing it on dry ground, I threw in my hook, 



68 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

and almost immediately I had caught some- 
thing so large and heavy I could not draw it 
out and had' to call for assistance. I was 
fearful it was a mud-turtle or something else 
than a fish, but it proved to be a fine, large 
fish, larger than all the small fish I had lost 
put together. When Frank had taken it 
from the hook, and strung it with the little 
one, I said, "Now I am going, before this 
fish gets away." All had fairly good catches, 
but none that compared with my big fish. 
There are about twenty corrals within sight, 
each of from twelve to twenty wagons. Ash- 
land is a miserable looking place, the houses 
log-cabins with dirt roofs. One store, where 
dry-goods, groceries, and whiskey are sold, 
and a blacksmith shop are all the business 
houses. I do not see anything that would 
pass muster as a hotel. 

Sunday, May 28. 
All the trains that camped near us last 
night, except one, have gone on their way, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 69 

Sunday though it is. I am glad there are 
some people going West who regard the 
Sabbath day. Some of our young people 
went fishing, and some went rowing on the 
river in a canoe or small boat the boys hired. 
It has been a day of sweet rest, a quiet peace- 
ful Sabbath. 

Monday, May 29. 

Traveled all day, and made a long drive 
without meeting anyone or passing a single 
habitation. We are camping near— what the 
people west of the Missouri River call— a 
ranch. There is a long, low log-cabin, with 
dirt roof, a corral, or inclosure for stock, 
with very high fence, and two or three wells 
of water in the vicinity, and that is all. No 
vegetable garden, no fields of grain, nor any- 
thing to make it look like farming. I think 
it 'is a stage-station, and the people who oc- 
cupy do not expect to stay very long. 

There are three other camps near, the 
people of the other trains are having an emi- 



70 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

grant ball, or dance, in a room they have 
hired. They sent a committee with a polite 
invitation to our camp for us to join them, 
which was as politely declined. They are 
strangers, and the conduct of some of the 
women is not ladylike, to say the least. 

WE MEET A ERIEND. 

Tuesday, May 30. 

We girls were riding in advance of the 
wagons when we saw a long freight train 
coming. We stopped to let our ponies graze 
until they would pass. I glanced at the 
driver on the second wagon and recognized 
an acquaintance. ''Why, girls, that is Kid 
Short," I exclaimed. 

He looked at me so funny, and began to 
scramble down from his high perch. 

''Why, Miss Sallie, I could not believe my 
eyes at first. Where did you drop from?" 
shaking hands with each of us. 

"Didn't drop from anywhere; have been 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 71 

thirty days getting here by the slow pace of 
an ox-train. Sim Buford and some more 
boys that you know are with the train you 
see coming." 

He soon said good-bye to us, spoke to a 
man on horseback, who dismounted, gave 
him his horse and cHmbed to the seat Mr. 
Short had vacated in the front of the freight 
wagon, drawn by eight mules, while Kid 
hurried off to see the boys. He and Sim 
have been neighbors, schoolmates, and inti- 
mate friends all their lives. Sim says Kid 
is homesick and expects to go home as soon 
as he can after reaching Omaha. He has 
been freighting from Omaha to Kearney, 
and has been away from home since last Fall. 
We are camping near another station, with 
the same trains we camped near last night 
not far off. 

Wednesday, May 31. 

We are camping in the valley of the Platte. 
We are obliged to stop at the stage-stations 
to get water for ourselves and the stock from 



^2 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

the wells. The water is very good, clear and 
cold. The same trains that have been camp- 
ing near us since we left Ashland are here 
again to-night. Two of the women called 
upon us awhile ago. We were not favorably 
impressed. They are loud, boisterous and 
unladylike; they speak to strange gentlemen 
with all the familiarity of old acquaintances. 
According to Thackeray, they are ''Becky 
Sharp" kind of women. 

Thursday, June i. 
Our little village on wheels has stopped 
near a large two-story log-house that was 
built in the early fifties for a wayside tavern ; 
there are fifteen rooms; there are frightful 
stories told of dark deeds having been com- 
mitted under that roof, of unwary travelers 
homeward bound from California that never 
reached home, but whether true or not I can- 
not say. The people of the other trains are 
having a dance in the large dining-room of 
the old house. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 73 

Friday, June 2. 
As Ezra and I were riding in front of the 
train we came to where a man was sitting on 
the ground hugging his knees, two men were 
standing near trying to talk to him, seem- 
ingly. As we rode up one of them came to- 
ward us, saying, "That is an Indian, over 
there." We rode close to him, and Ezra 
said, "How;" but he did not even grunt. He 
was very disappointing as the "Noble Red 
Man" we read about. He wore an old 
ragged federal suit, cap and all. There were 
no feathers, beads nor blankets. He was not 
black like a negro, more of a brown, and a 
different shade from the mulatto. He was 
ugly as sin. 

ON THE BANKS 01^ THE PLATTE. 

Saturday, June 3. 
Here we are on the Platte with about two 
hundred wagons in sight. We are now on 
what is known as "The Plains." My idea of 



74 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

the plains has been very erroneous, for I 
thought they were one continuous level or 
plain as far as the eye could reach, no hills 
nor hollows, but it is nothing else than the 
Platte River Valley with high bluffs on either 
side. There is some timber on the banks, 
but the timber of any consequence is on the 
islands in the middle of the river, out of reach 
of the axe of the emigrant. This is the junc- 
tion of the roads from St. Joe and Platts- 
mouth, and that is why there are so m.any 
wagons here to-night. Surely, among all 
these people there must be a minister of the 
Gospel, so perhaps we will have public wor- 
ship to-morrow. Our trip grows more in- 
teresting, even Mrs. Kerfoot seems inter- 
ested, as so many people are going West, it 
must be the thing to do. 

Sunday, June 4. 
We are organized into a company of forty- 
five wagons, a captain and orderly sergeant 
have been elected, and hereafter we will 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 75 

travel by system. Mr. Hardinbrooke is our 
captain. He has gone on this trip before; he 
is taking his wife and Httle girl with him to 
Montana. A Mr. Davis is our orderly ser- 
geant. 

We are now coming into a country in- 
fested with Indians, so it is required by Gov- 
ernment officials that all emigrants must or- 
ganize into companies of from forty to sixty 
wagons, elect captains and try to camp near 
each other for mutual protection. The grass 
for stock is unlimited. About twenty of the 
wagons in our train are freight wagons, be- 
longing to the Walker Brothers, Joe and 
Milt. Joe has his wife with him. Milt is 
a bachelor; their sister, Miss Lyde, and a 
younger brother, De, are with them. They 
are going to Montana. We have been in- 
troduced to Mr. and Mrs. Hardinbrooke, and 
to the Walkers and their ladies. They are 
pleasant, intelligent people, and will add 
much to the pleasure of our party, no doubt. 
Frank and I went horseback riding this after- 



76 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

noon to the station to get some good water 
from the well. I cannot drink the river 
water. 

No public worship to-day, although there 
were so many of us here. 

Monday, June 5. 
We were awakened at an early hour this 
morning with a bugle call. Three com- 
panies were organized yesterday ; there were 
about twenty wagons that were not asked to 
join either party, so they pulled up stakes and 
left while Frank and I were away. The 
strange women were of the party ; they must 
be some miles ahead by this time, and I hope 
they will stay ahead. When our long train 
of wagons are stretched out upon the road, 
we make a formidable looking outfit for the 
Indians to attack. As far as the eye can 
reach, before us and behind us, there are 
wagons, wagons, wagons; some drawn by 
oxen, some by mules, and some by horses. 
All fall into the slow, sure gait of the oxen. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 77 

There are whole freight trains drawn by 
oxen; there are more ox teams than all 

others. 

After our evening meal, a number of us 
started for a stroll along the bank of the 
river. Before we reached the river, we were 
met by a perfect cloud of mosquitoes that 
literally drove us back. I never came so near 
being eaten up. There is a strong breeze 
blowing toward the river, which keeps them 
from invading the camps, for which I am 
thankful, otherwise there would be little rest 
or sleep for us to-night. They are the first 
mosquitoes we have seen on the road. 

Tuesday, June 6. 
It is sweet to be awakened with music, if 
it is only a bugle. Our bugle certainly makes 
sweet music. The road is becoming very 
dry and dusty, which makes riding in the 
wagon rather disagreeable sometimes. 
Mother and I take turns driving the horses 
and riding Dick. Rather the most of the 



78 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

time I ride Dick. One of our boys goes out 
with the herders at night, so one of them is 
generally sleepy, and sleeps during the day, 
while the other drives the ox-team. 

THE ORDER OE OUR GOING. 

Wednesday, June 7. 

There is such a sameness in our surround- 
ings that we seem to be stopping in the same 
place every night, with the same neighbors 
in front and back of us, and across the cor- 
ral. When we organized, Mr. Ker foot's 
wagons were driven just in front of ours and 
Mr. Morrison's just behind ours, so we have 
the same next-door neighbors, only they have 
changed places. We are in the central part 
of the left-hand side of the corral. The 
wagons occupied by the Walkers and Har- 
dinbrookes are just opposite in the right-hand 
side of the corral. 

We always stop in just this way, if only 
for an hour at noon — which we do every day 
for lunch, and to water the stock. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 79 

When we halted to-day, the rain began to 
pour, the stock scattered in every direction. 
When it stopped raining, the cattle could not 
all be found in time to start again this after- 
noon, so we only made half a day's drive. 
It has commenced raining again, and prom- 
ises a rainy night. It is not very pleasant 
camping when it rains, yet it would be much 
more unpleasant if it did not rain — to lay the 
dust, refresh the atmosphere, and make the 
grass grow. 

When the captain finds a place for the 
corral, he rides out where all can see him, 
and gives the signal, the first and central 
wagons leave the road; the first to drive to 
where the captain stands, the other and all 
behind it cross over a sufficient distance to 
form the corral by the wagons stopping, so 
as to form a gateway, for the stock to pass 
through, turned so that they will not inter- 
fere with each other when hitching. The 
next wagon drives to position, with the right- 
hand side of cover almost touching the left- 



8o DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

hand or back, outer edge of the wagon in 
front, with tongues of wagons turned out, 
so that all can be hitched to at one time. In 
this way the entire corral is formed, meeting 
at the back an oblong circle, forming a wall 
or barrier, the cattle cannot break through. 
The horses are caught and harnessed outside 
the corral, but the cattle have to be driven 
inside to be yoked. 

Thursday, June 8. 
It rained all night, seemingly without ces- 
sation ; the wind did not blow, so there was 
no harm, but lots of good done. I am glad 
when the rain comes in the night-time, 
instead of day-time. Where the beds touched 
the covers they were quite wet this morning. 

Friday, June 9. 
We came through a little town — Valley 
C'ity. There is a very pretty attractive look- 
ing house near the road. Cash and I had 
come on ahead of v\^agons. Our inclination 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 8i 

to enter that pretty home was irresistible, so 
we dismounted, took off our habits, hitched 
our ponies, and knocked at the door. A very 
pleasant lady opened the door and gave us 
hearty welcome. We told her frankly why 
we came. She laughed, and said, ''I have 
had callers before, with the same excuse, but 
you need not apologize, I am glad my home 
is attractive to strangers." 

The gentleman of the house is postmaster, 
and has his office in the room across the hall 
from the parlor. While we were there the 
coach arrived, and the mail was brought in. 
He did not know we were there, and called to 
his wife to ''Come see this mail." We went 
with her, and oh, such a mess. They had 
emptied the mail-sack on some papers that 
had been spread upon the floor, and such a 
lot of dilapidated letters and papers I never 
saw before. I picked up a photograph of an 
elderly lady, but we could not find the en- 
velope from which it had escaped. 

Perhaps some anxious son, away out in 



82 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

the mines,, far from home and friends and 
mother, will look in vain for mother's pic- 
tured face, and be so sadly disappointed. I 
am so sorry for the boy that will miss getting 
his mother's photograph. She looks like 
such a sweet, motherly mother. A great 
many of the letters were past saving; if the 
owners had been there they could not have 
deciphered either the address or the written 
contents, for they were only a mass of pulp; 
the postmaster said it was '^Because they send 
such old leaky mail-bags on this route ; those 
post-office folk seem to think any old thing 
will do for the West, when we ought to have 
the very best and strongest, because of the 
long distances they must be carried." All 
that could be, were carefully handled and 
spread out to dry; still, they would reach 
their destination in a very dilapidated con- 
dition. 

We have made a long drive, are within 
four miles of Fort Kearney. There are a 
great many wagons within sight besides our 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 83 

own long train, whichever way we look we 
can see wagons. The road from Kansas City 
comes into this road not far from Valley 
City, and there are as many, or more, com- 
ing that way as the way we came. People 
leaving war-stricken Missouri, no doubt. I 
have never seen a fort. I do hope Kearney 
will come up to my expectations. 

FORT KEARNEY. 

Saturday, June 10. 

I was disappointed in Fort Kearney, as I 
so often am in things I have formed an idea 
about. There are very comfortable quarters 
for the soldiers ; they have set out trees, and 
made it quite a pretty place, away out here 
in the wilderness, but there is no stockade, 
or place of defense, with mounted cannon, as 
I had expected. 

Sim and I rode horseback through the fort 
while the wagons kept the road half a mile 
north of the fort. Only a few of us came by 



84 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

the way of the fort. A soldier gave us a 
drink of water from a well by the wayside. 
He seemed a perfect gentleman, but had such 
a sad expression. We were told that these 
soldiers were in the Confederate service, 
were taken prisoners, confined at Rock 
Island, and enlisted in the Government serv- 
ice to come out here and fight Indians. They 
are from Georgia and Alabama. 

Two families have joined our train and 
come into corral on the opposite side, just 
behind the Walkers : Mr. and Mrs. Ken- 
nedy — a newly-married couple — and Mr. 
and Mrs. Bower, with a daughter fourteen 
and a son five. We only came one and a half 
miles west of the fort near Kearney City. I 
do not understand why we have made such 
a short drive, for the boys say the feed is not 
good, it has been eaten off so close. 

Sunday, June ii. 
We were obliged to leave camp and travel 
to-day, the first Sunday we have hitched up 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 85 

since we started. It was a case of necessity, 
as there was not feed for our large herds of 
cattle and horses. We made only a short 
drive, just to get good feed for the stock. 

We are camping near a station that must 
seem like a military post, there are so many 
soldiers. Several soldiers came to our camp 
this afternoon; they confirmed what we 
heard yesterday. They are Confederate sol- 
diers, they were prisoners, and their homes 
are in far-away Georgia and Alabama, and 
they are desperately homesick. It is a dis- 
tressing sickness. I have been so homesick 
that I could not eat or sleep, and a cure was 
not effected until I was at home again. Then 
how nice it did seem to be home, and how 
good everything tasted. I do hope this 
cruel, homicidal war will soon be over, and 
these fine-looking Southern gentlemen will be 
permitted to go to their homes and loved 
ones, who, no doubt, are waiting and long- 
ing for their return. My heart aches for 
them. 



86 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 



ELEVEN GRAVES. 



Monday, June 12. 

We stood by the graves of eleven men that 
were killed last August by the Indians. 
There was a sort of bulletin-board about 
midway and at the foot of the graves stating 
the circumstances of the frightful tragedy. 
They were a party of fourteen, twelve men 
and two women, wives of two of the men. 
They were camped on Plum Creek, a short 
distance from where the graves are. They 
were all at breakfast except one man who had 
gone to the creek for water, he hid in the 
brush, or there would have been none to tell 
the tale of the massacre. 

There had been no depredations committed 
on this road all Summer, and emigrants had 
become careless and traveled in small par- 
ties. They did not suspect that an Indian 
was near until they were surrounded, and 
the slaughter had commenced. All the men 
were killed and scalped, and the women taken 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 87 

prisoners. They took what they wanted of 
the provisions, burned the wagons and ran 
off with the horses. 

The one man that escaped went with all 
haste to the nearest station for help. The 
soldiers pursued the Indians, had a fight with 
them and rescued the women. One of them 
had seen her husband killed and scalped and 
was insane when rescued, and died at the 
station. The other woman was the wife of 
the man that escaped. They were from St. 
Joe, Missouri. 

Ezra met with quite an accident to-day; 
he w^ent to sleep while driving the family 
wagon — he was on guard last night — the 
horses brought the wheel against a telegraph 
pole with a sudden jerk that threw him out 
of his seat and down at the horses' heels — 
a sudden awakening — with a badly-bruised 
ankle. 

We are in the worst place for Indians on 
all this road. The bluffs come within half a 
mile on our left, and hundreds of savages 



88 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

could hide in the hollows; the underbrush 
and willows are dense along the river banks. 
There is an island, about a mile in length, 
that comes so near this side in many places 
that a man could leap from bank to bank. 
The island is a thick wood, a place where 
any number of the dreaded savages could 
hide, and shoot down the unwary traveler 
with the guns and ammunition furnished 
them by the United States Government. 

How I would like to climb to the top of 
those bluffs, and see what is on the other 
side, but the captain says, "Stay within sight 
of camp." And I must obey. 

A NARROW ESCAPE. 

Tuesday, June 13. 
Cash, Neelie and I created quite a sensa- 
tion this morning. We waited, after the 
train had started, to mount our ponies as we 
usually do. Cash and I had mounted, but 
Neelie led her pony, and we went down to the 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 89 

river to water them, Neelie found some beau- 
tiful wild flowers, and she insisted upon 
gathering them. Of course we waited for 
her. The train was winding round a bend 
in the road, and the last wagons would soon 
be out of sight. We insisted that she must 
come. "The train will be out of sight in 
five minutes, and we may be cut off by sav- 
ages in ambush." 

She did not scare worth a cent. She led 
her pony into a little hollow to mount when 
we saw two men coming toward us as fast as 
they could ride. Cash rode at an easy canter 
to meet them, while I waited for Neelie, who 
was deUberately arranging her flowers so 
that she would not crush them. 

"Those men are coming after us, perhaps 
there are Indians around." She took her 
time, just the same. 

When the captain saw that the train would 
soon be out of our sight, he went to Mr. 
Morrison, who was on horseback, and said, 
"Ride quietly back and warn those girls of 



90 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

their danger, there are Indians around. They 
have been seen by the guard, on the island, 
and by the herders, in the hollows of the 
bluffs this morning. They would not be safe 
one minute after the train is out of sight." 

They had kept it quiet, as they did not 
wish to cause unnecessary alarm, for they 
knew there was no danger, for the Indians 
knew they were being watched, and besides 
we are too many for them. Mr. Morrison 
started, but not quietly; he snatched off his 
hat, whipping his horse with it, passed Mr. 
Kerfoot's wagon as fast as his horse could 
go. Mr. Kerfoot asked, "What is the mat- 
ter?" Some one said, "Indians!" 

He wound the lines round the brake- 
handle, leaped from his high seat on the front 
of the wagon, grabbed the first horse in 
reach, snatched Mr. Gatewood's boy out of 
the saddle, jumped on the horse and came 
tearing toward us, lashing the horse with 
his long whip — his hat flew off soon after he 
started, but he did not know it. He passed 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 91 

Mr. Morrison, and meeting Cash, he stopped 
long enough to bring his whip over her 
horse's haunches with all his might, and sent 
her flying toward the train. He next met me 
— for I started, when I saw them coming, 
and was perhaps a hundreds yards ahead of 
Neelie — and stopped and said, "Miss Sallie, 
do you know that we are in the very worst 
Indian country there is on this road?" 

He did not wait for a reply, but went on 
to Neelie, who was looking all about to see 
the Indians. He gave her pony a cut with 
his whip, as he had Cash's, and we went fly- 
ing over the ground, Neelie' s merry laugh- 
ter pealing forth. Mr. Kerfoot did not 
speak to either of us. Mr. Morrison had 
turned back with Cash, and scolded all the 
way, she said he stuttered and stuttered, un- 
til she had hard work to keep from laughing. 
The captain had stopped the train, and we 
were greeted with loud cheering and hurrahs. 

There was considerable joking about our 
being anxious for an adventure, and the 



92 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

young men were profuse in their declarations 
about what they would have done if we had 
been captured by the Indians. Every one 
laughed about our ''narrow escape," as they 
called it, except Mr. Kerfoot; he was pale 
and trembling. It is a shame that he should 
have been so unnecessarily frightened by our 
thoughtlessness, and I believe he thinks it 
was my fault. I wonder what he would have 
thought if I had left Neelie to come alone ? 

Wednesday, June 14. 
One of the men found the skull of a human 
being to-day while we were stopping at noon. 
It seems horrible to think of one's bones be- 
ing scattered about in such manner. There 
is a storm coming; a storm on the plains is 
something to be dreaded, especially a wind- 
storm. Old men who have been freighting 
across the plains for years, say they have 
seen wagons upset with three tons of freight 
in a wind-storm. I am more afraid of a 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 93 

wind-Storm than of Indians. The boys say 
I am not afraid of Indians at all. 



Thursday, June 15. 
The storm came with great violence last 
evening ; we saw it coming in time to be pre- 
pared for it, so there was no damage done. 
The rain came down in torrents, and made 
the roads as hard and smooth as a floor, not 
any mud. It has been fine for horseback rid- 
ing, everything seems so fresh and clean and 
pure, and not too warm. Mr. Milt Walker 
joined us about an hour before camping time. 
He seems a very pleasant gentleman. 

Friday, June 16. 
We had a storm last night, much more 
terrific than the night of the 14th, yet there 
was no harm done, more than to frighten 
some of the women and children. For my 
part I enjoyed the coming of the storm ex- 
ceedingly. I never witnessed a storm-scene 
so sublimely grand. Oh, for the pen of an 



94 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

artist, that I might picture the majesty and 
grandeur of the coming of that storm. 

BEAUX. 

NelHe Bower has a pony, and rides with 
us sometimes. She is a very mature young 
lady for her age, and very pleasant company. 
Neelie and I were riding together this morn- 
ing, while Cash and Nellie Bower rode a 
short distance ahead. We had been on the 
road about half an hour when Dr. Fletcher 
and Milt Walker rode up, requesting the 
pleasure of our company, in a very formal 
manner. Of course we smilingly bowed as- 
sent, and the doctor rode with Neelie, and 
Milt with me. It is the first time there has 
been any formality in our pairing off while 
riding. The boys sometimes ride with us, 
but they come informally, we ride as we 
please, and stop and climb into the wagon 
when we please, without saying by your 
leave. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 95 

I am sorry any such formality has been 
commenced, for when I want to lope off, and 
be by myself, I want to feel free to do so, 
rather than to be constrained to entertain a 
beau, as we did this morning. Of course, 
Dr. Fletcher and Mr. Walker have not gone 
with us thus informally. I presume we 
succeeded in entertaining them, for when the 
train turned out for noon, each gentleman 
looked at his watch and wondered "If it 
could be possible it is noon?" 

Dr. Fletcher is stepbrother of the Walkers 
— his mother and their father being married. 
He is physician for our train ; an intelligent, 
handsome man, below medium in size. I 
think he must be dyspeptic, for he is always 
finding fault with everything. He seems to 
admire Neelie very much. We came through 
Cottonw^ood this morning. Stopped at noon 
where the feed is fine, so it has been decided 
that we stay here until to-morrow. The sky 
has the appearance of another storm this 
evening. We have had a busy afternoon. 



96 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Saturday, June 17. 

There was a brisk shower last evening 
about dark, only lasted about half an hour, 
there was no wind. About midnight the 
cattle stampeded, the herders do not know 
what frightened them, but the first thing 
thought of was Indians, yet there were none 
visible. Some of the cattle were not found 
until this afternoon, so here we will have to 
stay another night. 

The bluffs near here are quite high and 
abrupt. I climbed to the top this morning. 
I seemed to be away up yonder, when look- 
ing down at our corral the people looked 
like midgets. The bluffs are 150 feet high. 
I received a beautiful bouquet of wild flow- 
ers this evening, but do not know who sent 
it. The boy said, "A gentleman sent it." 
But he either could not, or would not, tell 
what gentleman. Perhaps the one that sent 
it thought I would know instinctively, but I 
am certainly in the dark. 

Two gentlemen took lunch at our table 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 97 

this afternoon ; they are father and son. Hill- 
house met them out on the road ; they asked 
him, "Do you know where we can get some- 
thing to eat ? We have had nothing since a 
very early breakfast." 

He brought them to our wagons, and we 
soon had a lunch ready for them. Their 
name isReade,the father's hair and whiskers 
are as white as snow, otherwise he is not an 
aged-looking man. They asked questions, 
and when they found we had not fully de- 
cided upon our destination, they insisted that 
Montana is the place for us. They have been 
there and are going again with freight. They 
belong with the Irvine train. Each train 
goes by the name of its captain, ours is 
known as "The Hardinbrooke train." Then 
there is the McMahan train, and the Dicker- 
son train, that always camp within sight of 
us, for mutual protection. We have not met 
any of the people from the other trains. The 
Irvine train — which is very large — are some 
miles ahead of us. The Reades were hunting 



98 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

cattle, had been as far back as Cottonwood, 
but without success. The son had a long 
talk with the boys before leaving camp. 
After he had gone, Hillhouse came around 
and took a seat on the wagon-tongue, near 
where I was engaged in the interesting occu- 
pation of the week's mending. I said, "Mr. 
Read thinks Montana the place for us." 

WE DECIDE TO GO TO MONTANA. 

"Yes, so do the Walkers, and Mr. Hardin- 
brooke, and Mr. Morrison, and everyone else 
that are going to Montana." 

"Well, why not go there?" 

"I do not like for you and mother to go 
there, for it will be rough living I expect, 
but I intend to go as soon as you are settled 
somewhere near Mr. Kerfoot's folks." 

"Just listen to the boy. Mother come here 
for five minutes, do. What do you think this 
boy is saying? That he is going to Mon- 
tana when we are settled in California, or 
some other place." 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 9Q 

''Well, if he is going to Montana, we are 
going, too. How many women are on their 
way there in these trains? I reckon it will 
not be any worse for us than it will be for 
them." 

"All right, if you are both willing to go to 
Montana, we will change our plans accor- 
dingly. It is not as far as California." 

And I know he is glad. So it was settled 
then and there that Montana will be our 
destination. 

Sunday, June i8. 

We started very early this morning, as 
soon as light, about four o'clock. I think 
the most of the women were yet in bed. It 
was a glorious morning, and I did so enjoy 
my early ride on Dick. We had not been on 
the road very long when Frank joined me. 
I told him, "We had decided to go to Mon- 
tana." 

He was silent a moment, then said, "It is 
the place to go. I do hope we can persuade 
Uncle Ezra to go there, too." 



100 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

"I hope he will decide to go with us, for it 
would be hard to part with all of you now. 
It would seem almost like leaving home 
again." 

We halted at nine o'clock, had breakfast 
at ten, started again at twelve. Stopped 
again at four, and are camping on Fremont's 
Slough. 

Monday, June 19. 
We passed two graves this morning that 
have been made within a month. The first 
a man who shot himself accidentally three 
weeks ago. The other a woman, forty years 
old, who died one month ago to-day. As I 
stood beside the lonely graves, I thought of 
the tears that had been shed, the prayers that 
had been uttered, the desolation of heart that 
had been endured by those who had been 
obliged to go on and leave their loved ones 
here in this wilderness. How my heart 
ached for them. My heart went out in 
thanksgiving and praise to our Heavenly 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. loi 

Father that there has been no serious sick- 
ness in all these trains with so many people. 
It is marvelous. 

We are camped on the banks of the South 
Platte. The men have driven the stock 
across to an island. I do not know if it is 
because they are afraid of the Indians stam- 
peding them, or that the grass is better. If 
there should be danger, I presume they 
would not tell us. There is a town of prairie 
dogs near ; several of us went to make them 
a visit, but the boys had been there with their 
guns shooting at the little things, and fright- 
ened them so they would not come out, al- 
though we waited in silence until almost 
dark. I shall make another effort to see 
them very early in the morning before the 
boys are awake. I have heard they are early 
risers, that they come out to greet the rising 
sun. We met an acquaintance to-day — Will 
Musgrove — he is on his way to Central City, 
Colorado. He is night herder for a freight 
train. The most casual acquaintance seems 



102 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

like an especial friend, when we meet, away 
out here, so far from home, or anywhere else. 

PRAIRIE DOGS. 

Tuesday, June 20. 
Winthrop was quite sick last night with 
cramp colic. I was up with him the latter 
part of the night, so was dressed and ready 
for my visit to Prairie Dog Town at an early 
hour. The little fellows were up, standing at 
their doors, and greeted me with a welcom- 
ing bark. Some of them turned and darted 
away, no doubt to tell others we had come, 
for they immediately came back to peep out 
at us and bark and chatter, as if carrying on 
a lively discussion. They seemed perfectly 
fearless as long as we kept our distance, but 
if we tried to get a nearer view, they whisked 
away, and were gone in an instant ; then they 
would send out two or three scouts, and if 
we had gone far enough away, they would 
come again to their doors. They have been 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 103 

well described by many writers. Cash and 
Frank joined me, while at Prairie Dog 
Town. 

I rode horseback this morning, and Milt 
Walker rode with me. Winthrop is about 
well this evening. His was the first sickness 
we have had. Will Musgrove came up with 
us while we were halted for noon — his train 
is a short distance behind — he rode with me 
in the wagon all afternoon, and drove the 
horses, and mother rode Dick. We had a 
long talk about friends at home. He took 
dinner with us, and then said good-bye, and 
we will see him no more, for we will travel 
faster than the freight train. 

Wednesday, June 21. 
Mr. and Mrs. Morrison are large-hearted, 
cheerful people, who seem to be always happy 
and trying to make others happy. Mrs. Mor- 
rison learned that Miss Lyde Walker has her 
guitar, and sings beautifully, so she invited 
her to come to their tent and help to enter- 



104 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

tain a few friends. It was a very pleasant 
diversion. While Lyde was singing, the 
men and boys from all over the corral came 
near to listen. When she sang "The Cottage 
by the Sea," both inside and outside the tent, 
there was great applause that terminated in 
an encore. But no, she would not sing any 
more; she murmured something about the 
rabble, and laid her guitar away. 

If I was gifted with a talent, with which I 
could give pleasure to people, I would cer- 
tainly do so whenever opportunity was af- 
forded. I would be glad to promote the 
happiness, and dispel as much sorrow as pos- 
sible, in this sorrowful world. 

Thursday, June 22. 
We came through a place called Star 
Ranch, or Old California Crossing. We are 
camped twelve miles below Julesburgh. Mr. 
Reade called this evening; we told him we 
had decided to go to Montana. He seemed 
as pleased as though personally interested. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 105 

Says the Irvine train is only half a mile ahead 
to-night, and invited us to go with him to 
call upon the young ladies. We, with one 
accord, asked to be excused. We all felt 
that we are not in calling costume. 

Friday, June 2^. 

We are camping in Colorado. Came 
through Julesburgh, a rather insignificant- 
looking place, to have such notoriety as it 
has in the newspapers. We met a company 
of soldiers with about twenty Indian prison- 
ers. They were captured at Fort Laramie, 
and they are taking them to Fort Kearney. 
The soldiers had a fight with about one thou- 
sand Indians three weeks ago. There were 
no soldiers killed, though a number were 
seriously wounded, and they lost a good 
many horses. There were squaws and 
papooses with the prisoners, though not cap- 
tives. 

The Indians in the fight were Sioux and 
Cheyennes ; they all look alike to me. They 



io6 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

were the most wretched-looking human crea- 
tures I ever saw, nothing majestic, dignified, 
or noble-looking about any of the Indians I 
have seen. An ex-Confederate soldier gave 
me my information about the fight. There 
are a great many Southern soldiers on this 
route. We passed another newly-made 
grave this afternoon. Mr. Reade called this 
evening. 

Saturday, June 24. 

I was caught in a hail-storm this morn- 
ing. I was half a mile from the wagons, on 
a high bluff, looking over the river, watching 
the storm coming. I did not realize that it 
was so near, but all at once it came down 
pell-mell and gave me some pretty hard 
knocks. Dick seemed in a hurry to get to the 
train, and I let him go. We seemed to fly 
over the ground through the storm, but we 
had the benefit of it all, for it stopped just 
when we reached the wagons. 

I unsaddled Dick and turned him out, 
while I took passage in the wagon, changed 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 107 

my wet clothes for dry ones and wrapped in 
a shawl to keep from taking cold. When the 
teams were being hitched up at noon, Hill- 
house said to me, ''Dick has not had water; 
you would better ride to the river and give 
him a drink." 

The river was half a mile from the road, 
but in sight all the way. Dick cantered to 
the watering place, drank all he wanted, and 
we started back when I saw someone coming 
toward me. I will not say who it was be- 
cause of what followed. 

"I thought you were getting too far be- 
hind for safety." 

''Oh, there isn't any danger; you need not 
bother about me." 

"Bother? Oh, no." And then came a 
declaration that about took my breath. At 
first I felt that I would like to box the pre- 
sumptuous boy's ears. Then I wanted so 
much to laugh. But when I saw how des- 
perately in earnest he was I thought, per- 
haps, I have been to blame for not seeing 



io8 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

how things were tending. I was perfectly 
amazed; such a thought never occurred to 
me. 

Our ride back to the train was rather em- 
barrassing to me. I tried to make him see 
the comicaHty of the whole business, but he 
would not see it. We passed a station where 
the Indians had burned all that would burn, 
but these adobe, dirt-roof houses, or cabins 
rather, would not make much of a blaze I 
imagine. Inside one of the cabins — or what 
was left of it — were two dead Indians that 
had been killed in the fray. 

Sunday, June 25. 
Mr. Reade came with six young ladies to 
call upon us this morning, also one gentle- 
man from the Irvine train. They had gone 
down into their trunks and were dressed in 
civilization costumes. They were Misses 
Nannie and Maggie Irvine — sisters — their 
brother, Tom Irvine, Miss Mollie Irvine, a 
cousin — Miss Forbes,, and two other young 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 109 

ladies, whose names I have forgotten. They 
are all very pleasant, intelligent young 
people. 

The trains are keeping as close together as 
possible, for protection, for the Indians are 
on the warpath. Every station and ranch- 
building that we are passing these days have 
been destroyed. 

PREACHING SERVICES. 

We have had a preaching service this 
afternoon. Rev. Mr. Austin, of the Metho- 
dist-Episcopal Church South— the church 
that I am a member of — was the preacher. 
The services were well attended, and the ser- 
mon was fine. He compared our situation 
with that of 'The Children of Israel" in the 
wilderness. He spoke of God's care for 
them, and that He careth for us, spoke in an 
earnest manner of our dependence upon God, 
and our inability to take care of ourselves, or 
to accomplish anything without God's help 
and co-operation, and of the necessity of 



no DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

earnest prayer and faith in all circumstances 
of life, and always to remember that *'The 
Everlasting Arms are underneath." 

When the people were gathered, at the 
call of the bugle, some sat on chairs in the 
shade of wagons, some under umbrellas, 
some in carriages and light wagons. Mother 
and I stood near a carriage, before the serv- 
ice commenced, when a lady invited us to 
sit with her and her children — a little boy of 
five and a girl of three. We accepted and 
were introduced to Mrs. Yager, wife of the 
physician for the Chilicothe train, Mr. Dick- 
erson captain. The services were held at 
their camp. Mrs. Yager is a Southern 
Methodist, too. Rev. Austin is a member of 
the Chilicothe train. I am glad there is at 
least one preacher among us. 

MUSIC IN CAMP. 

Monday, June 26. 
Mr. and Mrs. May — a newly-married 
couple that came into our train at the June- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. in 

tion of the roads — are both musicians; sev- 
eral of our young men have fine voices, and 
with Lyde's guitar, and Mr. May's violin we 
have had an enjoyable musicale away out 
here in the wilderness. If the Indians had 
been within listening distance it would be in- 
teresting to know what impression the music 
made upon their minds, as "Music hath 
charms, etc." The music this evening has 
been the happiest feature of the day, for I 
have had to ride in the wagon all day. One 
of the big horses went lame this morning, so 
Dick was put in harness and the dear little 
fellow "has worked all day. He looks funny 
beside the big horse; the harness had to be 
taken up to the last holes to make it fit him. 
I would not enjoy taking this trip without a 
saddle-horse or pony to ride. I must be 
more generous hereafter and let Lyde and 
Mrs. Kennedy and other ladies that have no 
horse ride Dick oftener than I have been do- 
ing. I have not fully realized how very tire- 



112 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

some it is to ride in the wagon all day, and 
day after day. 

I have always supposed that good water 
would be very scarce on this road; we have 
not found it so^, there are always from one 
to three wells at the stage-stations, with ex- 
cellent water, free for all — thanks to Uncle 
Sam for this provision for our welfare. In 
some places wood is very scarce and must 
be hauled long distances; we cooked dinner 
this evening with wood hauled from near 
Cottonwood. Cedar logs are fastened under 
the wagons, lengthwise between the wheels ; 
as there are no stumps or rocks in the road 
they carry all right, when there is no wood 
to pick up the log is taken down, a piece cut 
off and split up for use. It is surprising with 
what a little bit of wood one can cook a meal 
on these sheet-iron stoves. 

Tuesday, June 27. 
Among the men who are driving for the 
Walkers is an eccentric old bachelor named 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 113 

Fogy; he is very bashful when in the pres- 
ence of ladies. I have often heard it said 
that men cannot drive oxen without swear- 
ing; it is a mistake. I have seen a whole lot 
of ox-driving on this trip, and to-day I heard 
the first profane oath since we left the Mis- 
souri River. It would have been funny if it 
had not been shocking. We have traveled 
all day where the bluffs come close to the 
river, the road is very uneven, little hills and 
hollows, in some of the hollows there is mud. 
Mr. Fogy admires Neelie very much (at a 
distance, of course), we often hear the ex- 
travagant compliments he pays her, and his 
regrets about that troublesome '*if." 

Soon after the start this morning, Neelie 
and I rode to the front to escape the dust and 
sand that were flying; as we came near the 
front wagon we were startled by hearing a 
terrific. oath. The wagon had stuck in the 
mud and would, of course, stop the entire 
train. Mr. Fogy was the driver. He was 
greatly embarrassed and distressed when he 



114 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

knew we had heard him swear, and stopped 
stock still and let the wheels sink into the 
mud so that they had to double teams to get 
them out. He afterward told some of the 
boys he was effectually cured of swearing; 
that he never felt so cheap in his life, and if 
he is ever tempted to swear he knows the 
remembrance of that moment will check him. 
We had a refreshing shower about two 
o'clock, that laid the dust, cooled the air, and 
made everything sweet and fresh. We hoped 
and expected to have a pleasant afternoon, 
after the rain there was a calm — not a little 
tiny breeze or breath of air — it was just suf- 
focating, and then came a cloud of buffalo- 
gnats that almost devoured us, so that horse- 
back riding was an impossibility. 

Wednesday, June 28. 
Cash is on the sick-list to-day. I trust it 
will not prove to be anything serious. I 
greatly fear Mr. Kerfoot's family are des- 
tined to have considerable sickness before 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. ii5 

this trip is ended. They have such a same- 
ness of diet, and it is so poorly cooked I fear 
the result. 

When we started on this trip not one 
member of the family had ever prepared an 
entire meal ; they had always had a houseful 
of servants to cook and do everything else 
for them. The first two or three weeks Nee- 
lie and her mother tried to learn to cook, and 
mother and I tried to teach them. It takes 
great patience to learn to bake in stoves out 
of doors; they heat red-hot so quickly, and 
cool just as suddenly; they must have care- 
ful attention all the time. 

They made several failures baking light 
bread, and, giving it up in disgust, settled 
down to biscuit, that are hard as brick-bats, 
when cold, bacon, coffee, and beans — when 
we stop long enough to cook them. They 
were well supplied with fruit at first; the 
canned fruit was so easily served that it is 
all gone. They have dried fruit, but think 
it too much trouble to cook. Neelie does the 



ii6 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

cooking with some assistance from her fa- 
ther, such as getting wood, making fires, 
bringing water, grinding the coffee, etc. 
Henrietta and Emma — the next younger 
sisters — wash the dishes. It is no small un- 
dertaking to cook for a family of twelve; I 
do not blame Neelie for getting tired, she 
says they have such appetites it is not worth 
while to tempt them with extras. 

Neelie is the dearest, sweetest, most unsel- 
fish daughter and sister; it seems they all 
depend upon her, the children go to her in 
their troubles and perplexities, her father and 
mother rely upon her, and she is always 
ready to do what she can for any and every- 
body that needs her help ; she is unselfishness 
personified. 

The wind blew so all afternoon that we 
could not ride horseback. The roads are 
smooth and hard as asphalt, result of rain 
yesterday and the wind to-day. Dr. Fletcher 
who was called to prescribe for Cash says 
she will be all right in a day or two. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 117 

THE MOUNTAINS IN SIGHT. 

Thursday, June 29. 

We could see the mountains, as the sun 
was sinking behind them ; they were plainly 
visible though one hundred miles away. It 
does not seem possible they are so far away. 
Long's Peak and others near it are the points 
in sight. They look very much as I have 
imagined mountains would appear in the 
distance. 

Mr. Walker is my informant as to names 
of places, distances, etc. He has been over 
the road and seems to know all about it. We 
usually ride some hours in company each 
day, so I have fine opportunities for asking 
questions, and he seems a willing instructor. 
He never broaches the sentimental, has never 
paid me a compliment in words I am glad to 
say, for since my late experience I would 
hesitate to ride with him were he not the sen- 
sible man that he is. We crossed a small 
stream to-day that was bridged and had to 



ii8 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

pay fifty cents toll for each wagon ; the ford 
had been spoiled, or we could have crossed 
without the bridge. 

Friday, June 30. 

We stopped at noon where the road forks, 
the left-hand road goes to Denver. Mr. and 
Mrs. May, and Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland and 
children took the left-hand road, as they are 
going to Denver. Mr. May's brother, 
George, goes on to Montana on horseback; 
he will leave us in the morning and depend 
upon reaching stations, or emigrant camps, 
for food and shelter nights. I do hope the 
Indians will not get his scalp. 

We have been feasting on antelope, the 
first that any of our party have killed. It 
is fine, much better than venison — but then I 
never ate venison when I was so hungry for 
fresh meat — we do get so tired of cured 
meat. We see no game except antelope and 
jack rabbits. The great herds of buffalo — 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 119 

that we read about — have not been in sight 
as yet. 

Mr. Morrison's four-horse team ran away 
this afternoon with Mrs. Morrison and the 
children in the wagon. I had been riding 
with them since noon, had just left the 
wagon. When all the horse teams were 
driven out of ranks and down to the river 
for water, the lead horses took fright at an 
ant-hill — the ant-hills are big as a chicken- 
house — and started to run. There were sev- 
eral men near who caught and stopped them 
just as the forewheel went over the bank of 
the river. Mr. Harding was driving; he 
tried to rein them away from the river but 
they were right on the verge when stopped, 
one moment more and there would have been 
a serious accident. Mrs. Morrison did not 
scream nor try to jump out, neither did she 
allow the children to, but sat quite still and 
acted like the sensible woman that she is. 

We are only six miles below the crossing 
of the South Platte. 



120 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Saturday, July i. 
We were awakened this morning at the 
first peep of dawn by the sound of the bugle 
call. Soon the teams were hitched, corral 
broken, and we were journeying to the cross- 
ing of the river, where we were driven into 
corral again. While we were getting break- 
fast the men were raising the wagon-beds 
and fixing them upon blocks as high as the 
wheels, and binding them tight with ropes to 
the coupling poles and lower parts of the 
wagons, ready to ford the river. They had 
a top-heavy appearance, as if the least jolt 
would topple them over. Some of the 
women were very nervous about riding in 
wagons set up on stilts, and felt quite certain 
somebody would be drowned. Wagons were 
crossing when we drove into corral, of 
course we had to wait our turn — first come, 
first served. Some enterprising young men 
have the blocks and ropes there to rent, at a 
very reasonable hire, too, for they might 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 121 

have asked what they would, we had no 
choice but to use them. 

The river is half a mile or more wide, 
about half way over there is a large freight 
wagon stuck in the quicksand, just below the 
track of the wagons ; it has been there since 
yesterday; it is slowly, slowly sinking, and 
cannot be gotten out. It has been unloaded 
and left to its fate, it seems a signal of dis- 
tress to warn drivers to keep farther up the 
river and avoid the quicksands. 

I drove the horse team over, and Hillhouse 
rode Dick and directed our going. The 
wagons of our train were all over and in cor- 
ral by two o'clock without accident or mis- 
hap. Wagons have been crossing all day, 
and this evening we are a considerable town 
of tents and wagons ; more than two hundred 
wagons within sight on the north side of the 
South Platte, at the eastern extremity of Fre- 
mont's Orchard — though why it is called an 
orchard I cannot understand, for there is cer- 
tainly no fruit, neither promise of fruit about 



122 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

it, mostly quaking-asp and cottonwood, I 
think. Our corral is just to the left of where 
the wagons drive out, and near the bank of 
the river. Hillhouse has crossed the river 
on Dick at least twenty times to-day; he 
seemed to know just how to help and has 
been in constant demand, so he and Dick are 
thoroughly tired out to-night. We will stay 
here over Sunday, and hope to have religious 
services to-morrow as there are several 
preachers with us. I have not met any of 
them except Brother Austin who preached 
for us last Sunday. 

Cash is much better, able to be out, though 
quite pale and weak. The mountains loom- 
ing up in the distance seem to be the goal to 
which we are tending, and now we seem to 
make some progress every day for we are 
certainly nearer than when we first saw them 
on the twenty-ninth of June. Before they 
came in sight we did not seem to make any 
progress, but traveled day after day, and 
seemed to camp at night always in the same 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 123 

place; there was such a sameness in the land- 
scape. In the early morning when the sun 
shines upon the snow-capped mountains the 
effect is thrilling; they seem to be the great 
altars of earth raised up to Heaven for the 
morning sacrifice. 

r 

A TOWN OF TENTS AND WAGONS. 

Sunday, July 2. 
It is wonderful, wonderful to behold how 
this town of tents and wagons has sprung up 
since yesterday morning when there was no 
sign of Hfe on this north bank of the South 
Platte, and now there are more than one 
thousand men, women and children, and I 
cannot guess how many wagons and tents. 
The wagons have been crossing all day, the 
last one has just been driven into corral at 

sunset. 

I was sitting on the bank of the river 
watching with anxiety the wagons as they 
ploughed through the deep waters — for the 



124 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

ford has washed out and the wagons go in 
much deeper than when we crossed yester- 
day — when a gentleman came and introduced 
himself as Dr. Howard, physician for the 
McMahan train. He said, "Miss Raymond, 
I have known you by sight since we camped 
at Kearney, and now as I have an errand for 
an excuse I hope to become better ac- 
quainted." 

I could not imagine what his errand could 
be, for he talked of other matters for fifteen 
minutes or more, then said, ''Miss Raymond, 
I have been directed to your wagons for the 
best and most wholesome bread that is baked 
on this road. Captain McMahan's nephew, 
Robert Southerland, has been very sick but 
is now convalescing and needs nutritious and 
wholesome food to help him gain strength. 
I came to ask you for a piece of good bread." 

Of course I gave him a loaf, and said, 
"Come get more when that is gone." He 
thanked me profusely. 

There has been no serious accident nor 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 125 

any lives lost, although thousands of cattle, 
hundreds of horses, and more than a thou- 
sand human beings have crossed the river 
since yesterday morning. 

Oh, for the pen of a Dickens to describe 
this wonderful scene, which no one ever has 
or ever will see again, just as it is. The 
moon is at the full and shining brightly as 
there is not a cloud in the sky, the camp-fires 
do not glow as they do dark nights. The 
men are building a great bonfire in the middle 
of our extemporaneous town. 

WE WORSHIP IN THE WILDERNESS. 

There is to be a praise and thanksgiving 
service for our safe conduct through the deep 
waters and our protection from the Indians. 
The people are beginning to gather near the 
bonfire and I must go, too. 

Later. 

Our service is over ; it was grand, the sing- 
ing of the old familiar hymns by so many 



126 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

voices spontaneously was inspiring, the talks 
by five or six ministers of different denomi- 
nations were full of love for the Master, and 
brotherly love for every one. 

An invitation was then given for all who 
had enlisted in the service of the Master to 
come forward and shake hands with the 
preachers, thus testifying for Christ. Nee- 
lie was the first one in that long procession 
to give her hand. Precious girl, she is al- 
ways first in every good work. I noticed 
Dr. Howard in line^ and I also noticed that 
Mr. Reade and Milt Walker were not among 
the soldiers of the cross. 

The feed for stock is abundant, if it were 
not so, all these cattle and horses could not 
find pasture. 

Monday, July 3. 

The scenes in this great expanse of low, 

level land on the north side of the Platte in 

the early hours of this morning is hard to 

describe. Corrals and camps here, there and 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 127 

everywhere. Cattle and horses being driven 
into corrals to be harnessed and yoked, men 
and women cooking by camp-fires and on 
stoves, everybody seemed to be in a great 
hurry, all was animation and life, men riding 
after horses, oxen and mules; yelling, hal- 
looing and calling, but not a profane oath did 
I hear. Among so many children, we rarely 
ever hear a child cry, and never hear a 
woman scold. 

Our train was the third to break camp and 
file into the road this morning. The place 
that knew us yesterday will know us no more 
forever. Our town of tents and wagons that 
was teeming with life this morning is this 
evening deserted, silent, and uninhabited. 
We have folded our tents and driven or rode 
away. I did not mount immediately, but 
led Dick by the bridle, and gathered a mag- 
nificent bouquet of the most beautiful wild 
flowers. I had loitered by the way and did 
not notice that I was getting far behind our 
train, when I looked up and saw only stran- 



128 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

gers in the train that was passing. I thought 
it was time to mount, threw the bridle over 
Dick's head, while arranging my flowers, so 
that I would not crush them. I saw a gentle- 
man in the train throw down his whip and 
start toward me, as if to assist me in mount- 
ing. I waited until he was quite near, then 
placing a hand on either horn I sprang lightly 
into the saddle, turned and waved my bou- 
quet toward him as Dick galloped off. Such 
a cheer as the men in the train did raise, and 
then such merry laughter ; it was fun to hear 
them. 

Dr. Howard says it was Colonel Woolfolk 
— a gallant young widower — and the men 
that witnessed it guyed him unmercifully on 
having been snubbed. We came to the west- 
ern extremity of Fremont's Orchard, ten 
miles, and stopped for lunch. Then came the 
Sand Hills, where all the heaviest wagons 
had to double teams to get through. The 
captain came on four miles and selected a 
camping ground, and we drove to our places, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 129 

to wait for the heavy wagons to get through 

the sand. 

Hillhouse, and several others, who came 
on with us, went hunting for antelope. We 
have been feasting on antelope for several 
days ; it is fine, but if I could have my choice 
I would rather live on ham and bacon all the 
while than to have our men go hunting in 
this Indian country. Since we have crossed 
the Platte we have no protection from the 
soldiers, as there are no stations on this side 
the river. 

We suffer agony when our boys are away 
from camp guarding stock or hunting. I 
have no fears for myself nor any of us while 
we are all together in corral; but just a few 
away by themselves, how easily they might 
be cut off. There were Indians seen this 
morning by men looking for feed for the 
stock. It is almost dark and the boys have 
not come. I think the captain is getting 
anxious; he keeps looking in the direction 
the boys have gone. Ten p.m. The boys 



130 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

have just come with one antelope. They lost 
their bearings and came to the river, one 
mile or more above camp, and that was what 
kept them so late. When we scolded, they 
said they were obliged to stay to get at least 
one antelope for our Fourth of July dinner 
to-morrow. 

WE CELEBRATE THE EOURTH. 

Tuesday, July 4. 

We made corral at eleven a.m., the cap- 
tain announcing, "That we will stay four 
hours." I do not know if we stopped so 
soon, because it is the Fourth, or because it 
is so intensely warm, and the sun beams so 
hot, or because it was such a delightful camp- 
ing-place. Whatever the cause, there we 
rested beneath the shade of large cottonwood 
trees, and it was so pleasant. 

We had dinner at two. Our bill-of-fare 
— oyster soup, roast antelope with oyster- 
dressing, cold beans warmed over, dried 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 131 

fruit sauce, and our last cake and custard for 
desert. We used the last of our eggs, which 
were packed in salt; it is surprising how 
nicely they have kept. I believe they would 
have kept another month. We had a very 
enjoyable feast, with an abundance of 
lemonade without ice. The boys put up a 
large swing on two large cottonwood trees; 
two could swing at once, with lots of strong 
arms to send us away up high. We began 
to file into the road at three p.m. Our fun 
was all too short. Dr. Fletcher rode with 
Neelie, and Milt Walker with me. 

Wednesday, July 5. 

Here is where we would have crossed the 
South Platte — if we had not forded it at the 
east end of Fremont's Orchard — on Lathan's 
Ferry. If all those wagons had crossed on 
the ferry it would have been a big pile of 
money for the ferrymen, for they charge one 
dollar a team. 

We passed a squalid-looking Indian vil- 



132 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

lage to-day; it was just teepees and huts. 
Oh, dear, but they do look so uncomfortable. 
We are at the mouth of the Cache la Poudre 
— where somebody cached their powder. 
The water is so very clear and cold ; it seems 
so nice after the muddy Platte. As there 
are no stations on the north side of the river, 
there are no wells. The Cache la Poudre is 
supplied by springs that flow from the snow- 
capped mountains that seem to be right over 
there. 

Thursday, July 6. 
As we were passing another Indian town 
I peeped into two or three of their dwelling- 
places. They are desolate-looking homes; 
no sleeping-places, no tables, chairs nor any 
furniture, just some rolls of blankets and 
buffalo robes, some camp-kettles, and that 
was all. There were squaws and pappooses 
innumerable squatted around on the outside 
of their teepees, the squaws making mocca- 
sins, or decorating them with beads. When 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 133 

we said ''How," they grinned and held up 
two fingers, indicating they wanted two dol- 
lars for a pair. We did not purchase. 

THE BLACK HILLS. 

Friday, July 7. 

We are camped at the foot of the Black 
Hills. They seem like immense mountains 
to me. There are four large corrals near the 
little village of La Porte. We rushed through 
with dinner, then Mrs. Hardinbrooke and I 
started for the top, taking our note-books 
with us. Before we had gone far, Winthrop 
and Frank joined us. Frank brought his 
gun; I do not know if he expected to find 
Indians or antelope up here. After much 
puffing and blowing, climbing and clamber- 
ing, we reached the top. Oh, it is magnifi- 
cently grand. If only I could make a pen- 
picture of this scene that others might realize 
it, as I do. 

The mount upon which we stand is shaped 



154 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

like the quarter of a ball or globe miles and 
miles in diameter and circumference ; we hav- 
ing climbed up the outside of the quarter to 
the top edge are looking down a steep preci- 
pice — the perpendicular side of the quarter. 
When a stone is thrown over, it takes it 
twenty-five seconds to reach the bottom, 
where the Cache la Poudre River runs at the 
base of the precipice. 

How easy to step off into eternity from 
this place. I would not like to live near here, 
lest I might be tempted to do it some time. 
The valley over there looks as if — away back 
in the ages past — another quarter of the 
great ball that had been separated from this 
quarter, had been lifted by giant hands and 
carried away, leaving the most picturesque 
valley that I have ever beheld. There are 
three prosperous-looking farms in sight, a 
large herd of cattle grazing, and a beautiful 
grove or park at the northern end of the vale. 
West of the valley, and opposite where we 
stand, are peaks much higher than this; be- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 135 

hind which the sun is sinking. The setting 
sun has crowned the mountain-tops with a 
crown of glory and brightness. The moon 
is rising out of beautiful, white fleecy clouds 
in the east. It is lovely beyond description. 

How beauteous is this earth, 

How bright the sky, 
How wisely planned by him 
Who reigns on high. 

The sun is gone, night is coming; we must 
go, for we are at least one and a half miles 
from camp. I fired Frank's gun before start- 
ing; I aimed at the river, and hit the mark. 
How weak and insignificant these words 
seem when compared with the reality. 

WE VISIT A BEAUTII^UL SPRING. 

Saturday, July 8. 

The scenic beauty of the route we have 

come over to-day was ever changing. We 

were either coming through a narrow canon, 

across a beautiful vale, climbing or descend- 



136 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

ing a steep hill or mountain. Nellie Bower 
and I had started on horseback to have the 
morning to ourselves, when Mr. Walker 
rode up and asked us to go with him to a 
lovely spring of delightfully cold, clear 
water he knew of, some two or three miles 
ahead. We consented, of course, and had 
soon left the wagons behind us. Mr. W. has 
been over the road before and seems to know 
the landmarks and places of interest. We 
found the spring, as described, in a beautiful 
dell, where the loveliest wild flowers I ever 
saw are growing luxuriantly. We were soon 
off our horses, enjoying the cool, delicious 
spring water. We gave our horses a drink, 
and then we each gathered a large bouquet 
of beautiful, fragrant wild flowers. They 
certainly are "wasting their sweetness on the 
desert air." 

I believe we were almost an hour ahead of 
the train. Mother scolded, and so did Mr. 
Bower, because we had gone so far ahead of 
the wagons, for it is said these hills are full 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 137 

of Indians. I am all the time forgetting 
about the Indians. Mr. Kerfoot will not al- 
low his girls to get out of sight. I am glad 
mother is not so exacting as that, but I ought 
not to impose upon her good nature, and 
cause her to worry. I never do intentionally, 
but sometimes I forget. 

We are camping in a beautiful basin sur- 
rounded on all sides by high hills, and where 
the grass is plentiful. There is only one 
other train with us, but then it is the Mc- 
Mahan train, and they are all such fine-look- 
ing young men — and of course they are brave 
— that I always feel safe when they are near. 
Our captain has forbidden our going out of 
sight of camp. There are canons in all di- 
rections ; how I would like to explore. 

Hillhouse and Sim Buford gathered some 
wild currants while herding; they will pass 
for fruit, but they look better than they 
taste. We have made sauce of them; with 
lots of sugar and cream they look inviting, 
and the boys seem to like them; very few 



138 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

will satisfy me. We can always have cream 
for breakfast, as the milk stands over night, 
and a pat of the sweetest, most delicious but- 
ter every evening, when we travel, as the 
milk is churned by the motion of the wagon. 
Fruit is very necessary on this trip, because 
of the alkali in the water, dust, and air we 
breathe, to keep us in health. 

Sunday, July 9. 

I was up very early this morning; I can- 
not spend precious time in bed after daylight 
while we are camping in this delightful place 
and have this perfect weather. I led Dick 
to the spring for a drink, bathed my face and 
hands in the cool water, picked a bouquet for 
the breakfast-table, and returned to camp to 
find the girls in bed. They missed a glorious 
sight by not seeing the sun rise. 

Mother and Mrs. Hardinbrooke went with 
me to the top of the hill nearest camp this 
afternoon. They picked flowers and enjoyed 
the view for a while, then returned to camp, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 139 

leaving me to come later. I sat on a large 
flat rock, just below the top, as mother said, 
''The Indians could see me so much farther 
if on the very top." I promised her I would 
not go out of sight ; that if an Indian carried 
me off they could see him and know where 
I had gone. I did so enjoy the quiet of this 
Sunday afternoon; I had Mrs. Prentiss's de- 
lightful book, ''Stepping Heavenward," to 
read, and time passed so quickly the sun was 
setting before I thought of going back to 
camp. Some of the boys laughed and said, 
"We were watching, and if an Indian had 
put in an appearance we'd have settled him ; 
we knew you would not see him until he had 
you." I thanked them for their watchful- 
ness. 

WE CUT OUR NAMES IN STONE. 

Monday, July 10. 
Just when we had mounted our ponies for 
our morning ride, Mr. Walker came and 



140 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

asked us to go with him to the top of a 
mountain we could see far ahead and to the 
right of the road. He said, *'The prospect 
is very fine, indeed, from that mountain-top. 
I was there two years ago." 

Cash and NeeHe were included in the in- 
vitation, also Mary Gatewood, but their fa- 
thers would not let them go. So Nellie 
Bower and I were the only ones who were 
allowed to accept his invitation. We rode 
our ponies until the ascent became too steep, 
and then dismounted and climbed. It was a 
hard climb, but we were amply paid. The 
view was magnificently grand. We found 
Mr. Walker's name where he had cut it in 
the soft stone two years ago, and we left our 
names, with date and former place of resi- 
dence, cut in the stone. There were hun- 
dreds of names there, but I looked in vain 
for a familiar one. I wonder if any one that 
we know will find ours? We passed the 
graves of two men this morning who had 
been killed by the Indians. What a sad 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 141 

fate ; God forbid that any of our men or boys 
should die such a death. 

We are camping near a military post — 
Virginia Dale. It is just as beautiful as the 
name would imply. There are soldiers here 
for the protection of emigrants passing 
through these hills and mountains. Cash 
and I were riding with the captain when we 
came to the station. The officer in charge 
came out to speak to the captain and asked 
some significant questions, "How long have 
you been in the hills?" 

''Two days and nights." 

"Where have you camped?" 

"In that basin about eighteen miles back. 
We stayed over Sunday." 

"Have the Indians troubled you?" 

"We have seen no Indians." 

He seemed greatly surprised, and said, 
"There has been no train come over that road 
within the last month without trouble, espe- 
cially where you stayed over Sunday. Did 
not you notice those canons in every direc- 



142 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

tion? The Indians could surround you be- 
fore you could know there was one near. 
The hills are full of Indians." 

He told the captain where to camp, and 
where to send the stock for safety and pro- 
tection. The captain thanked him, and we 
were starting on when the McMahan train 
came in sight. 

"Ah, ha !" he exclaimed, 'T see now why 
you have not been molested. Just keep that 
train in sight, and you need have no fear of 
Indians." And he just doubled up laughing 
until it was embarrassing to us. 

''But why ? Why will that train be a pro- 
tection more than another?" 

"Don't you see that portable engine lifted 
away up there, and all those iron pipes ? The 
Indians think it is cannon, or some sort of 
machinery invented for their destruction ; no 
doubt they believe it could kill them by the 
hundreds, though the mountains stood be- 
tween it and them." 

So that is why we have not been mo- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. I43 

lasted. We have heard of depredations be- 
fore and behind us, but we have not seen an 
Indian. Blessings on the McMahan train ; I 
hope we will not lose sight of it while we are 
in this Indian country. 

We have passed through some very nar- 
row canons to-day, where there was barely 
room for one wagon to pass. Great rocks 
were hanging overhead on one side, with a 
rushing stream beside and just below the 
road on the other. There are beautiful 
waterfalls in the cafions. I was standing 
watching one of the highest, waiting for the 
wagons to pass. The last one had gone 
when Mr. Morrison came and peremptorily 
commanded me to ''Come on, Miss Sallie. 
The I-I-I-Indians will c-c-c-carry you off 
some of these days," he stuttered. Of course 
I went. 

The captain's orders are, ''Do not leave 
camp this evening." We were only just cor- 
ralled when I saw Lyde Walker climbing a 



144 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

near-by mountain. It is the first time I have 
known her to leave camp since we came into 
the Black Hills; she is very much afraid of 
Indians. When she came back I asked, 
"Why, Lyde, did you not hear the captain's 
order that we were not to leave camp this 
evening?" 

"Oh, there is no danger when the men are 
on guard and watching. It is when they 
feel secure and are not looking out for them 
that I am afraid. Indians do not molest 
people when they are expecting them." 

LARAMIE PLAINS. 

Tuesday, July ii. 
The sounding of the bugle and the echo 
that reverberated through the mountain 
gorges this morning was enchantingly 
sweet, and must have driven slumber from 
every eyelid. We left the hills at noon and 
are camping on Laramie Plains. We came 
over some very steep, rocky roads before we 
reached the plains. I watched the wagons 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 145 

anxiously as they descended the steep, rocky 
mountain-side, bounding and bumping 
against the big rocks, expecting and dread- 
ing an upset, but all landed safely on level 
ground at last, and I gave a sigh of relief and 
thanksgiving. We have not had an uncom- 
fortably warm night all Summer, but v^hile 
we have been coming through the hills the 
nights have been really cold, so that we have 
slept under blankets and comforts, like Win- 
ter-time. There is no sickness in camp at 
all ; it is marvelous how very well we are. I 
hope it will continue so. 

Wednesday, July 12. 
We crossed the Big Laramie River just 
before noon. Had a good crossing ; the wa- 
ter is clear, the bed of the river is covered 
with gravel, the banks are low, and the water 
is not very deep. I rode across on Dick ; the 
water just came to my stirrup. We will stay 
here until to-morrow, as there is no water for 
fifteen or twenty miles, and we cannot go so 



146 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

far in half a day. We young people planned 
a fishing expedition for this evening, but the 
mosquitoes are so thick on the bank of the 
river we had to give it up. Some of the boys 
went seining ; Brother Winthrop was among 
them, so we will have fish for breakfast to- 
morrow morning. 

The mosquitoes have not disturbed our 
rest at night, yet they have several times 
been very thick on the banks of the rivers, 
but have not been troublesome in camp. Per- 
haps the smoke keeps them away. The Mc- 
Mahan train keeps with us, so we are safe. 
Dr. Howard rode with us this morning; he 
is a widower. 

Thursday, July 13. 

We passed two large ponds of alkali this 
morning. The water had dried up, and the 
alkali was two or three inches thick all over 
the pond; it looked like ice, until we came 
very near. 

Mrs. Hardinbrooke had a sick headache 
this afternoon; I took care of little Annie 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 147 

that she might not disturb her mother. She 
is a dear, sweet child and seems fond of me. 

There was a rather serious accident as we 
were driving into corral. Mr. Hazelwood's 
horses were frightened and ran away, upset- 
ting the wagon and smashing it up consider- 
ably. Mrs. Hazelwood, her sister, and two 
children were in the wagon; Mrs. H. was 
considerably bruised, the others were not 
hurt. 

Dick drank alkali water this evening. I 
have been feeding him fat bacon; no doubt 
the grease and alkali have turned to soap 
before now in his stomach, and soap is not 
poison, so he will not die this time, and I will 
take better care of him the next time we are 
near alkali. 

IN THE RAIN. 

Friday, July 14. 
The men were until almost noon repairing 
the broken wagon. An accident that hap- 



148 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

pens to one is assumed by all until results 
are overcome. As we were ready for the 
start, a little girl ran among the oxen to 
catch her pet crow ; an ox kicked her on the 
forehead and cut a gash that had to have a 
few stitches and be bandaged, so we were 
delayed again. When order reigned once 
more we crossed the Little Laramie. It is 
very much like the Big Laramie, only not so 
wide nor deep; I rode Dick over, and then 
came on ahead of the train, keeping within 
sight. When we had traveled about an hour 
the rain came down. I was likely to get very 
wet before our wagons came, for they were 
among the last in the train ; I took the saddle 
and bridle off Dick, sat down on the saddle 
to keep it dry, and to wait for the wagon. I 
was resigning myself to a drenching when 
Mr. Grier, driver of the front wagon, came 
and spread a great big rubber coat over me, 
so that I was completely sheltered and was 
hardly damp when our wagons came. 

Then mother drove the horses close up 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. I49 

to the wagon in front I tossed my saddle and 
bridle in, hopped up on the tongue of the 
wagon before the wagon behind got close 
up, and we started without stopping but the 
one wagon. We could not stop until we 
came to feed for stock, so we were obliged 
to travel in the rain. We drove into corral 
about four p.m., and are again quite near the 
mountains. There are more pleasant things 
than camping in the rain. The water is so 
impregnated with alkali I fear it will cause 
sickness ; the stock are in greater danger than 
we, for we can guard against it. 

Saturday, July 15. 
As I climl^ed out of the wagon this morn- 
ing I saw the most beautiful rainbow I ever 
looked at. The bow was complete, the colors 
dazzlingly bright and just as vivid in the 
center as at the ends. It was not raining in 
camp, but raining hard on the mountain-side. 
The rainbow was so near we might easily 
have reached the end and ''found the pot of 



150 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

gold." The rain came down all morning; 
we did not break camp until ten o'clock and 
then made only a short drive. We are camp- 
ing among the hills once more, with not an- 
other train in sight. The McMahan train is 
behind us, but we do not know how far awav 
they are, so we are glad to wait until they 
catch up. There is a mountain near that I 
would like to climb, but it is against orders. 

Sunday, July i6. 
We are all here; although some of the 
women last night seemed to think there was 
small chance of our seeing the light of this 
morning's sun. Had we known that the 
McMahan train was within calling distance 
— just a hill intervening — perhaps we would 
have rested easier and slept more soundly. 
It is considered a very dangerous place 
where we were last night and where we have 
traveled to-day. Although it is Sunday, I 
am sure there is not one in camp that would 
have voted to stay there to rest. We have 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 151 

heard horrible stories of the depredations 
that have been committed along this road 
and in these mountains within the last month. 
We saw with our own eyes — just before we 
came to Rock Creek — a station that had been 
burned and all the inmates killed or taken 
prisoners; there were none to tell the story 
of the fight, although the bodies of all who 
were known to be there were not found. The 
buildings were not all burned, the fire either 
went out, or was put out by the rain, after 
the Indians left. They have been repaired, 
and soldiers stationed there now. We saw 
at the same station a coach that had been 
riddled with bullets; it was found on the 
road about a mile from the station, without 
horses, driver or passengers. 

INDIANS. 

It is supposed the Indians killed the driver, 
took the horses, and it is not known yet 
whether there were passengers or not, the 
coach being so riddled with bullets; it is 



152 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

feared there were passengers. A guard of 
soldiers go with the coaches we meet, or that 
pass us now. We crossed Rock Creek on a 
toll-bridge, and had to pay fifty cents toll for 
each wagon. 

Just after we crossed the bridge, and 
where there is a sudden turn in the road, as 
it winds around the mountain, we saw where 
two men had been killed and two wagons 
burned last week. The tire became loose on 
a wheel of the next to the last wagon in a 
freight train, the men stopped to tighten it, 
while the rest of the train moved on, not 
thinking of danger, and was out of sight in 
a few minutes. An hour later some of the 
men came back to see what kept them. There 
they were — dead and scalped — the horses 
gone, and wagons on fire. The Indians had 
taken all the freight they could use, piled 
wood under the wagons, and set it on fire. 
We saw quantities of white beans scattered 
over the ground, also the irons from the 
wagfons. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. iS3 

We are within sight of Elk Mountain and 
seemingly quite near it. Sim and Hillhouse 
picked a nice lot of gooseberries while stop- 
ping at noon. I have been sitting in the 
wagon, picking off stems all afternoon ; they 
also brought a bucket of snow. It is really 
refreshing, and such a novelty to have a 
snow-ball to eat in July. The gooseberries 
are quite plentiful around here. Cash and I 
went with Hillhouse and Sim to pick some 
this evening, but a shower drove us to camp ; 
the boys stayed and picked as long as they 
could see. If we had time, we could gather 
gooseberries enough to supply the train for a 
month. They are very fine and large; they 
are certainly an acceptable addition to our 
bill-of-fare, where a sameness of diet is un- 
avoidable. I shall always consider them a 
fine fruit hereafter. 

About an hour after we drove into corral 
the McMahan train came, and their corral is 
quite near. We are so glad they are here ; 
we feel safe when they are near. 



154 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Monday, July 17. 

Such a cold, rainy, dismal day as this has 
been. It has rained without stopping from 
early morn until now, and it is almost sun- 
down. This is the first all-day rain we have 
had this Summer. It has rained all night 
several times, but that is not so bad. 

Since we have been in this Indian country 
the tents have not been put up; every one 
seems to think it safer in the wagons than in 
tents outside the corral, so we have had to 
sit in the wagons all day. I have read, 
sewed, written, picked over gooseberries and 
ran through the rain and visited some, yet 
the day has seemed long. The herders have 
to take the stock two miles away to find feed, 
so we are consumed with anxiety, notwith- 
standing we know our Father's care is round 
and about us, and He can and will protect us. 
When we came here we could see Elk Moun- 
tain, but now it is enveloped in clouds, en- 
tirely hidden from view. It is not pleasant 
camping when it rains all day long. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. i55 

Tuesday, July i8. 
The wagons started soon after daylight, 
before we were out of bed. We had been 
on the road a little while when I heard Hill- 
house call to Brother Winthrop — who was 
driving our wagon — "Oh, just look, Wint. 
Isn't that a grand sight?" 

I knew there was something to see, so I 
was soon up and dressed and sitting with 
Winthrop. I shivered with cold until my 
teeth chattered, but was well repaid for any 
inconvenience by the grandeur of the sight I 
looked upon. Why try to describe or picture 
anything so entirely impossible? The masses 
of fleecy white clouds, with the brightness of 
the morning sun shining upon them as they 
floated around and over the top of the moun- 
tain, made an ever-changing, beauteous 
panorama that I cannot describe. As the 
clouds rose higher and higher, they seemed 
to mass over the top of the mountain, as in 
benediction, glittering in the sunshine until 
they seemed to melt away. 



156 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

I waited until the sun had warmed the air, 
then mounted Dick for my morning ride. 
The McMahan train broke corral and drove 
into line just behind our wagons. I had only 
just started when Dr. Howard rode up on 
his pony Joe and requested the pleasure of 
riding with me. The doctor is a very pleas- 
ant, cultured gentleman, and is very fond of 
his pony, yet Joe cannot be compared with 
Dick for beauty, neither for easy gait. Why, 
Dick is the most beautiful pony on this road. 
He is a bright bay with long and heavy black 
mane and tail, and his gait is as easy as a 
cradle. I can ride all day and not be tired at 
all. While his horse — well, I will not de- 
scribe him. It might hurt the doctor's feel- 
ings. 

We came to the foot of Elk Mountain, on 
the Medicine Bow, about nine o'clock. We 
find plentiful and excellent feed for the stock, 
so the captains have announced, *'We will 
stay here until to-morrow." 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 157 

WE CLIMB ELK MOUNTAIN. 

The doctor thanked me for the pleasure 
our morning ride had afforded him, and 
asked, "Can we not make up a party to cHmb 
Elk Mountain after breakfast?" 

'T hope so. I will ask some of the young 
people." 

About ten o'clock a few of us commenced 
the climb. Lyde Walker, Nellie Bower, 
Cash and Neelie, Sim Buford, Brother Hill- 
house, Dr. Howard and myself. We were 
well paid for the effort; we found beautiful 
wild flowers, and some wild strawberries not 
five feet from a snow-bank. The snow is 
in a ravine on the north side where the sun 
does not shine. The berries and flowers are 
on the bank of the ravine, high enough to 
catch the rays of the sun, facing the south. 
The view was fine ; we could see a large white 
lake far away to the west. Dr. Howard said 
it was alkali. 



158 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Wednesday, July 19. 

We passed the alkali lake this afternoon. 
It was a strangely beautiful sight — the water 
as white as milk, the grass on the border in- 
tensely green. I always thought grass would 
not grow where there is alkali, but it is cer- 
tainly growing there; the contrast of white 
and green was vivid. The wind was blowing 
the water into little glittering, dancing skip- 
ping wavelets ; the sight was so unusual that 
it was fascinating, though the water is so 
dreadfully poisonous. 

There are several musicians in the Mc- 
Mahan train; Lyde says they serenaded me 
last night. She says they stood between our 
two wagons. I think she is trying to tease 
me. 

*'Ask Dr. Howard, if you do not believe 
me. He was one of them." 

"Oh, no. I would be ashamed to acknowl- 
edge I did not hear them, and would feel like 
a dunce if they had not been there." 

Dr. Howard gave me the bouquet he 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 159 

gathered on Elk Mountain, which was most 
beautifully arranged, and asked me "To keep 
it until it falls to dust." I have put it be- 
tween the leaves of a book and will perhaps 
never think of it again. 

We came through Fort Halleck to-day. 
There were eight wigwams, or teepees, at the 
east end of the town ; the squaws wore calico 
dresses and hoops. I believe they were more 
comical-looking than in their blankets. I fail 
as yet to recognize "The noble red man." 
They are anything else than dignified; they 
seem lazy, dirty, obnoxious-looking crea- 
tures. 

Cash and I made a few purchases at Fort 
Halleck. I paid eighty cents for a quire of 
writing paper, and Cash paid fifty cents for 
a can of peaches. Mrs. Morrison is on the 
sick-list to-day, and Delia Kerfoot has a very 
sore mouth — scurvy, the doctor says, caused 
by the alkali in the dust and air. Neelie and 
Frank are both complaining. 



i6o DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

WE CROSS THE NORTH PLATTE. 

Thursday, July 20. 

The ground was covered with a white 
frost this morning, and it is freezing cold. 
Mrs. Morrison and Frank are better; Delia's 
mouth is healing. Neelie continues to drag 
around ; she will not acknowledge that she is 
sick enough to go to bed, but she certainly 
looks sick. I wish they would call Dr. 
Howard; somehow, I have more faith in 
him; perhaps because he is older and more 
experienced. 

We are on the banks of the North Platte ; 
arrived about three o'clock, did not stop for 
lunch at noon. We came ahead of the other 
trains, which will be here to-night. We will 
have the privilege of crossing first in the 
morning. 

The men have taken the herds five miles 
away to get good feed. They are in danger 
from Indians. The captain called for volun- 
teers. My brothers both offered to go, but 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. i6i 

the captain said, "Only one of Mrs. Ray- 
mond's boys must go." 

Hillhouse said he would be the one. He 
was on guard last night, too. 

We are in no danger here, for there are 
several trains here now and there will be 
more to-night. Oh, the anxious watching, 
the prayerful longing for day that we must 
endure this night, because of loved ones ex- 
posed to danger. What a precious privilege 
that we can go to the Mercy-seat with the 
assurance that if we ask aright our petitions 
will be granted. How do people live with- 
out Christ and a Mercy-seat? What can 
they do, when suffering anxiety, grief, or 
bereavement, if they cannot go to Jesus with 
their sorrows? Precious Saviour, what a 
refuge in time of trouble, what a joy to carry 
everything to God in prayer. 

The McMahan train is near. Dr. Howard 
has been here ; he begged me to let him see 
my diary. I asked to be excused. 



i62 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Friday, July 21. 

The night passed without alarm, and we 
are all here; I am thankful. Some of the 
men in our train were afraid to risk fording 
the river, and paid four dollars per wagon 
to be ferried over on a rickety old ferry- 
boat that looked more dangerous than driv- 
ing over. 

Hillhouse and Winthrop were both en- 
gaged with the ox-team, Winthrop on the 
seat and Hillhouse riding Dick. When they 
drove into the river I motioned to mother to 
keep quiet and drove the horse-team right in 
behind them. The current is very swift; 
they had all they could do to keep the oxen 
from going with the current, and did not 
know I had followed them until they came 
out on an island in the middle of the river. 
Hillhouse smiled a sickly little smile, and 
said, "You should not have tried that." 

Dr. Howard stood near, holding his pony 
by the bridle. He complimented me on my 
skill in driving, and said, 'T saw you drive 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 163 

in that swift and treacherous river with 
bated breath, but soon saw that you knew 
what you were doing, yet I rode Joe in just 
behind you to be ready for emergencies." 

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness. I 
will not 'halloo until I am out of the woods' 
— the other side is to be crossed yet." 

Hillhouse said, "You would better wait on 
the island, and I will come back and drive 
your wagon over." 

But of course I could not do that, after all 
the complimenting I had received. I drove 
in — with fear and trembling — for there lay 
a big freight wagon upset in the middle of 
the stream. It was more difficult than the 
first side, the banks higher and steeper, and 
the water deeper. We got over without mis- 
hap; the doctor came on his pony just be- 
hind us. I wandered off alone after lunch 
and climbed to the top of a near-by moun- 
tain. I found there a large pyramid of loose 
stones that looked as if they had been piled 



i64 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

there by travelers, each one contributing a 
stone. 

I selected a snow-white stone from the 
mountain-side and added to the pile. There 
is another town of wagons being made on 
the west side of the North Platte. The 
wagons have been crossing all day, and are 
crossing yet. Hundreds of wagons have 
been driven over that turbulent and rushing 
river, and not a serious accident occurred. 

I have been on the lookout for the Irvine 
train, but it is not here. I think it is ahead 
of us, and we will not see the young ladies or 
Mr. Reade again on this trip, yet as we are 
all going to Montana we may perhaps meet 
again. 

NEELIE IS SICK. 

Saturday, July 22. 

We are within sight of Pine Grove in 
Wyoming Territory. 

Neelie was very much better this morn- 
ing; almost well, she said at noon, and rode 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 165 

her pony this afternoon. I was riding with 
her when I noticed a heavy rain-storm com- 
ing. I begged her to come on and not risk 
getting wet. 

''Oh no, Miss Salhe; I don't want to ride 
fast. This air is so deHcious, and I think I 
want to ride alone for a while; you go on, 
and I will come very soon." 

I saw it was useless to urge her. I am al- 
ways careful not to expose myself unneces- 
sarily to a drenching, so I raced on to our 
own wagons and had barely time to unsaddle 
Dick and turn him loose when down came 
the rain in torrents. I was so anxious about 
Neelie and expected her to come tearing 
through the rain. I looked from the back of 
the wagon and saw her coming— plodding 
along at the same slow gait, as if she did 
not know it was raining. When the rain 
was almost over she came along— drenched, 
of course. She laughed at my look of dis- 
may and paid no heed to my scolding. 
Mother and I both urged her to go quickly 



i66 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

and change her wet garments for dry and 
warm ones. She got off her horse and 
cHmbed into the wagon. When we stopped 
I went around to see how she fared. She sat 
in the wagon with a blanket-shawl around 
her, and the wet clothes had not been changed 
for dry ones. She was shivering with cold. 

"Oh, Neelie, my precious girl, I am afraid 
you have killed yourself." 

*'0h, no, Miss Sallie; I am not so easily 
killed as all that." 

*'But, Neelie, you have been sick for a 
week, and now to get this drenching. I fear 
the consequences." 

The family do not appear at all anxious, 
so there is nothing I can do but hope and 
trust that her naturally strong constitution 
may bear even this strain. I advised her to 
go to bed, drink hot tea, and get into a per- 
spiration. I doubt very much if she will 
doit. 

Milt Walker is on the sick list, too. Hill- 
house went to bed with a severe headache 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 167 

last night, but a night's rest has entirely re- 
stored him. 

We crossed three very muddy streams to- 
day, the first muddy water we have seen 
since leaving the South Platte. Since com- 
ing to the mountains, the water has been 
as clear as crystal until to-day; perhaps we 
are coming into mining country. We stopped 
quite early this afternoon; the McMahan 
train has passed and gone out of sight. I 
hope they will not go too far, and that they 
will lend us protection with their portable 
engine and other machinery. 

Sunday, July 23. 
We are resting to-day. I went with Mrs. 
Hardinbrooke, Lyde and a gentleman friend 
of Lyde's, for a long ramble over the moun- 
tains this afternoon. We found a most de- 
lightful spring where the water seemingly 
gushes out of the rock. Just below this 
spring was a patch of the finest wild onions 
I ever saw. We brought a good supply to 



i68 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

camp. We are so starved for green vege- 
tables that everyone seems to enjoy the 
onions, though some had never eaten onions 
before, they said. For my part I always did 
like onions. 

THE SUMMIT OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 

Monday, July 24. 
We passed the summit of the Rockies to- 
day, and are camping on the western or Pa- 
cific slope to-night. The ascent has been so 
gradual we should not have known when we 
reached the top but for the little rivulets run- 
ning in different directions. Quite on the 
summit and very near to each other we saw 
two little rivulets starting on their way ; one 
to meander toward the Pacific, while the 
other will empty its confluence into the Mis- 
sissippi, and thence on to the Gulf. Just a 
scoopful of earth could change the course of 
either where they started — from the same 
spring really. As it is, how widely differ- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 169 

ent the scenes through which they will pass. 
So it is with human lives — a crisis is 
reached, a decision is made, and in one short 
hour the whole trend of our life is changed 
with regard to our surroundings, associates, 
environments, etc. 

We came through Bridger's Pass to-day, 
crossed a toll bridge near Sulphur Springs, 
and had to pay fifty cents toll for each 
w^agon. The streams are all muddy that we 
have crossed to-day. We saw two beaver 
dams; they look like the work of man with 
shovel and trowel. We are camping two 
miles west of Sulphur Springs. 

Tuesday, July 25. 

We are camping near another muddy 
creek near a station that was attacked by 
Indians ten days ago ; they wounded one sol- 
dier very severely and ran off with nine 
horses. 

After we were in corral, while waiting for 
the stove to be set up and the fire to be made, 



170 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

I was sitting in mother's camp-chair idUng 
and thinking, when Neehe came to me. She 
dropped upon the grass beside me and, lay- 
ing her head in my lap, said, "Oh, Miss Sal- 
lie, I am afraid I am going to be sick in spite 
of everything, and I have tried so hard to get 
well without sending for the doctor." 

Dr. Fletcher is desperately in love with 
her and tried to tell her so one day not long 
ago, catching her hands while talking, which 
she resented as a familiarity, and has not 
spoken to him since. She told me about it 
the evening after. It happened at noon. I 
told her I believed he was sincerely in earnest 
and that she had wounded him deeply. 

She told me what she had done to try to 
cure herself; the medicine she has taken is 
enough to kill her. I called mother and told 
her what Neelie had told me. Mother said, 
"You poor child, you do look sick, indeed; 
you must go to bed and send for the doctor 
right away." I went with her to the wagon, 
helped her to get ready for bed, and told 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 171 

Cash to send for Dr. Fletcher. She said she 
would as soon as Bush — her brother — came. 

After dinner I went again to see Neelie; 
the doctor had not yet come, but Bush had 
gone for him. I stepped upon the tongue of 
the wagon and could, with difficulty, restrain 
an exclamation of disgust. Neelie inter- 
preted my expression and said, "Cash just 
would do it; said I was looking so like a 
fright." 

Cash had powdered and painted Neelie's 
pale face and crimped and curled her hair — 
and made her look ridiculous — trying to hide 
the sick look from the doctor. I did not 
answer Neelie, but went and scolded Cash; 
hi a low tone she said, "She was so dark 
around the eyes, her lips blue, and her cheeks 
so pale I could not bear to have Dr. Fletcher 
see her looking so homely. She has told 
you about their little love-tiff?" 

"Yes, but don't you suppose he can see 
through that paint and powder ? I am afraid 
he will think Neelie did it, and she will ap- 



172 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

pear ridiculous in his eyes." I saw the doc- 
tor coming, so came away. As I was sitting 
here writing, he came a while ago and said, 
"Miss Raymond, will you sit with Miss Ker- 
foot to-night and see that she has her medi- 
cine strictly at the right time?" 

''Certainly I will. Is she very sick, doc- 
tor?" 

''She is in a much more serious condition 
than she or the family realize. It would not 
be wise to alarm her, but the family ought 
to know she will need very careful attention. 
I will tell them to-morrow. You need not 
sit up after the last dose of medicine is given, 
which will be at midnight. I think she will 
rest better if everything is quiet, and the 
lights out." 

I know from the doctor's tone and man- 
ner he thinks Neelie dangerously ill. The 
doctor gave me directions about her medi- 
cine, and I went immediately to her wagon. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD, 173 

SIM BUFORD SICK. 

Wednesday, July 26. 

Last evening as I was on my way to sit 
with Neelie I met Ezra. He said, "Miss 
Sallie, Sim is quite sick; very much hke 
Cousin Neehe is, I think. I wonder if we 
are all going to be sick ?" 

"Oh, no ; I hope not. I am very sorry Sim 
is sick." 

When I left Neelie — a little after mid- 
night — sleeping quietly, to come home, I no- 
ticed a light in the wagon that Sim and 
Frank occupy. I did not awake this morn- 
ing until everything was ready for a very 
early start. Mother had kept my breakfast 
warm by keeping the stove until the last 
minute. I sat in the wagon and ate my 
breakfast after the train had started. When 
through I climbed out and went to see how 
Neelie was. I found her feverish and rest- 
less; her symptoms unfavorable. 

Oh, the dust, the dust; it is terrible. I 



174 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

have never seen it half as bad ; it seems to be 
almost knee-deep in places. We came twenty 
miles without stopping, and then camped for 
the night. We are near a fine spring of most 
excellent water — Barrel Spring it is called. 
I do not know why; there are no barrels 
there. When we stopped, the boys' faces 
were a sight ; they were covered with all the 
dust that could stick on. One could just see 
the apertures where eyes, nose and mouth 
were through the dust ; their appearance was 
frightful. How glad we all are to have 
plenty of clear, cold water to wash away the 
dust. 

Neelie is no better. Such a long drive 
without rest and through such dust was 
enough to make a well person sick. I fear 
the consequences for both Neelie and Sim, 
for Sim is a very sick boy. Hillhouse told 
Sim last night that we would take him with 
us and take care of him, if he wanted to come 
and Mr. Kerfoot would let him. He wants 
to come, of course; so he sent for Mr. Ker- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 175 

foot this morning to come to his wagon, as 
he wished to see him on business. 

Mr. Kerfoot came, and Sim asked to be 
released from his contract to drive through 
to Cahfornia. Mr. Kerfoot asked, "Why do 
you want to leave us?" 

''I believe Montana is the place for a 
young man to go, and besides I am very sick 
and can have better care with the Raymonds 
than I can here, for Neelie needs all your 
attention." 

''I reckon your chances are as good as the 
rest of us have." And walked off. 

Frank came for me, and I went to see Sim ; 
he is very sick, has a high fever and coated 
tongue. He asked me to see Mr. Kerfoot. 
Frank went with me. Mr. K. seemed to 
know what we came for; he was scarcely 
civil. I put the case plainly, and said, ''We 
must take care of Sim, either with or with- 
out your consent; we owe it to his father 
and mother, and to himself, to see that he is 



176 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

taken care of. He cannot be taken care of 
where he is." 

After re-arranging the boys' wagon and 
making room for Sim's bed and other be- 
longings; Ezra, Frank and Hillhouse helped 
him to the wagon and put him to bed, while 
I went to the McMahan train, which was 
quite near, and asked Dr. Howard to come 
and prescribe for him. The doctor came, 
bringing the medicine with him. He says 
it is mountain fever. 

OUR TRAIN DIVIDED. 

The separation of the train is being talked 
of, and is no doubt absolutely necessary, for 
the herd is so large it is hard to find pasture 
for them all together. When the division is 
made, those going to California will form 
one corral, and those bound for Montana will 
form another. This will separate us from 
Mr. Kerfoot's family; I do hope we will not 
have to part while Neelie is so sick. I do so 
want to help take care of her. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 177 

Thursday, July 27. 

Among the famiHes that came into our 
train at Kearney was a family of four young 
ladies and their father — a widower — named 
Ryan. Sue, Kate, Mary and Maggie are 
their names. Mr. Ryan told some of the 
young men that he was taking his daughters 
to the west, where there are more men and 
fewer women, so they could have a better 
chance to get good husbands than in Mis- 
souri. It has been a good joke among the 
boys, and some of them have tried to be very 
gallant to the young ladies — as they are on 
the market. 

George Carpenter, a driver for Hardin- 
brooke and Walker, when the train separated 
this morning, pretended to go into hysterics. 
He had a fit on the inside of the corral when 
Mr. Ryan drove off with the other half of 
the train. Mr. Kerfoot did not know he was 
fooling, and ran to his assistance; the cap- 
tain passed, took in the situation and smiled. 
Mr. Kerfoot knew then it was a hoax, and it 



178 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

made him so mad he declared he would not 
stay in a train where the captain would smile 
at such conduct. 

The doctor had said to him, ''It is neces- 
sary that I see Neelie several times during 
the day, and you will be taking great risk if 
you leave the train until she is much better." 
He had decided to stay, and join the others 
any time before they came to the California 
road, west of Green River. He was so mad 
at the captain for smiling at Carpenter's non- 
sense, and because he did not rebuke him, 
that he made the boys bring in the horses 
and cattle and hitch up as quickly as possible. 
In an hour after the others started they had 
followed. Mr. Kerfoot did not say good- 
bye to any one. I do hope Neelie will not 
suffer for his crankiness. 

We are now a corral of twenty wagons, 
the greater number freight wagons ; they are 
in corral on the opposite side, while the fami- 
lies are all on our side. The Hardinbrookes, 
Walkers, Bowers, Kennedys, Morrisons, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 179 

Currys — a family of five — Mr. and Mrs. 
Baily and their daughter, about ten years old, 
and a widowed sister of Mrs. Baily and her 
little girl, about the same age as her cousin, 
are with us at the back end of the corral. I 
do not know these people, only just to speak 
when we meet, but they now help to form 
our corral. 

We came only two or three miles after the 
train separated, just far enough to get out of 
the dust. Mr. Ker foot's family and ours 
have been almost as one family since we 
have been on the road, and I have become 
greatly attached to all of them and especially 
to Neelie. She is the dearest, sweetest girl, 
so very unselfish, and always ready to help 
any and every one that needs help. There is 
not one in the family but could be spared 
better than Neelie except, of course, her fa- 
ther. They all love her so, and depend upon 
her for everything. She is a precious daugh- 
ter, a darling sister, and a true friend. 

Sim is very much better; he has some 



i8o DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

fever, but not so high a temperature as 
yesterday. Dr. Howard is very attentive. 
He says it is mountain fever that Sim and 
NeeHe both have. Dr. Fletcher called him 
to see Neelie ; he says she is a very sick girl, 
but not worse than Sim was when he first 
saw him. Her temperature is not so high. 

I wonder if mountain fever is contagious, 
or what it is that causes it? It seems the 
air is so pure and invigorating one could not 
get sick at all. I never felt better in my life, 
and mother seems so well. I am afraid it is 
the sameness of diet and poor cooking that 
is making Mr. Kerfoot's folk sick.' The 
bread they make is hard as brick-bats when 
cold. 

WE OVERTAKE THE CALIFORNIA TRAIN. 

• 

Friday, July 28. 
We came up with the other half of the 
train about ten o'clock, and have traveled in 
company the rest of the day. We have sepa- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. i8i 

rate corrals about two hundred yards apart; 
the stock is not herded together. 

NeeHe has been restless with high fever 
and flighty when she dozes; with eyes half 
open, poor girl she is certainly very, very 
sick. 

We are near a delightful spring, cold as 
ice, and clear as crystal. I went to the spring 
to bathe my face and hands, and brush my 
hair. Mr. Kerfoot and Frank came for wa- 
ter. Mr. Kerfoot said, ''Miss Sallie, why 
don't you and your folks come and go to 
California, where you started to go?" 

''Why, Uncle Ezra, you know the reason. 
We think Montana the better place for the 
boys to get a start, and we want to do the 
best we can for them." 

"Tut, tut ; wealth is not the chief thing in 
life. You can make a living anywhere, and 
Montana is an awful place. Why, the only 
law^ they have is mob law, and if a man is 
accused of crime he is hung without judge 
or jury." 



i82 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

"Notwithstanding, there seems to be a 
great many nice people going there, and I 
am not in the least afraid of my brothers be- 
ing accused of crime." 

''I do believe you will regret going to 
Montana, and I also believe it is all your 
doing that you are going. I think it is very 
unkind of vou to leave us now when Neelie 
is so sick and needs you so much." 

"We are not leaving you, Mr. Kerfoot ; it 
is you leaving us against the doctor's orders, 
too." 

I made a great mistake saying that, he 
fairly raved ; he was so angry, actually be- 
side himself with rage. He said very unkind 
things without the least foundation or truth 
in them, and which I will try to forget. I 
am so sorry for him. I did not answer a 
single angry word, and I am glad I did not. 
But Frank did ; he was about as angry as his 
uncle was, and talked manfully in my de- 
fense. He gave his uncle the lie, and 
clenched his fists and seemed ready to fight. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 183 

I ended the embarrassing scene by walking 
away. Mrs. Hardinbrooke was waiting for 
me; we climbed to the top of a very steep 
point, which was hard to climb, and we were 
out of breath when we reached the top and 
were glad to sit and rest. The view was 
fine, the evening pleasant, and we were glad 
of each other's companionship, but we did 
not talk. I think Mrs. Hardinbrooke at- 
tributed my silence to anxiety about Neelie, 
and she was not far from the truth. 

Saturday, July 29. 

Neelie was very much better this morning ; 
her fever gone, she was very weak, but was 
free from pain. Her medicine had the de- 
sired efifect. She had rested quite well last 
night — better than since she has been sick — 
and all her symptoms are favorable. 

The doctor seemed greatly encouraged 
and told Mr. Kerfoot that if they would stay 
here until Monday he felt sure Neelie would 
be out of danger and they could move on 



i84 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

without any risk of doing her harm. He did 
not dream that Mr. Kerfoot would again 
disregard his advice. Neelie continued bet- 
ter until noon, then some one proposed mov- 
ing on a half day's drive, thought it would 
not hurt her if they made only short drives 
at a time. 

Mr. Kerfoot listened, and finally con- 
sented. He is very much afraid of Indians, 
and in a few days we will be out of the In- 
dian-infested country. The doctor is very 
much out of patience with him, told me he 
gave Mr. Kerfoot a piece of his mind. 

You must make big allowance for the poor 
man. He does not realize that he is endan- 
gering Neelie's life; he cannot believe it pos- 
sible that such a calamity as Neelie's death 
can befall them while he is trusting in a mer- 
ciful Father above. Yet I do wish someone 
might have exercised authority and pre- 
vented their going. 

Sim is very much better, improving rap- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD, 185 

idly. Mr. Walker is able to be around once 
more. I wonder if he had mountain fever ? 

I have been trying to get the dust out of 
our wagon this afternoon ; it was hard work 
taking everything out and cleaning off the 
dust. Lyde Walker pleasantly entertained 
us this evening with songs accompanied with 
guitar. The wagon the Walkers occupy is 
just in front of ours since the separation. 

ON EMITTER CREEK. 

Sunday, July 30. 

We came fifteen miles to-day, but have 
not overtaken the California train. It must 
be that Neelie is no worse, and their travel- 
ing yesterday did her no harm, or they would 
have waited over to-day; we shall hope so 
anyway. 

Dr. Howard rode with me this morning. 
We are traveling on Bitter Creek, which is 
considered the very worst part of all the 
road. I had heard so much about the deso- 
lateness of this part of the country that I 



i86 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

expected to find a barren waste. It is not so 
bad as represented. There are long distances 
where there is not sufficient pasture for the 
stock, but in places the feed is plentiful. The 
captain and two or three men are off the 
road the greater part of the day hunting pas- 
ture; we stop when they find it at whatever 
hour it may be. 

Monday, July 31. 
We came twelve miles, passed one station ; 
it was built of stone and seemed a very com- 
fortable place. Mrs. Hardinbrooke has been 
quite sick to-day. I have taken care of little 
Annie. We have not had any word from 
Neelie. I trust that no news means good 
news. Sim was able to sit up in the wagon 
for a while this afternoon. I think with care 
he will be well in a few days. We have had 
delightful weather, since we passed the sum- 
mit. The roads are quite dusty, but not like 
they were before we came to Barrel Springs. 
The water in Bitter Creek is not so nice as 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 187 

the mountain streams and springs, but it is 
not bitter, as I thought it would be from its 
name. 

Tuesday, August i. 
We are at Point of Rocks, the place is 
rightly named; one who never saw them 
could hardly imagine such enormous piles 
of rock; they are high as mountains, with 
scarcely any dirt among them, the sides are 
smooth and even, the stone is soft like slate 
or sandstone, and the whole face of the 
enormous pile, as high as man can reach, is 
literally covered with names, dates, and 
places of former residence from all over the 
United States. I looked in vain for some 
familiar name. I left my name in a conspicu- 
ous place, so if any of my friends look for 
my name they will not be disappointed. 
There are springs flowing from the clefts in 
the rock; and oh, with what pleasurable an- 
ticipation did I hasten to partake of the pure 
water, as I, of course, supposed it was. 



i88 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

I had been riding with the captain as he 
came ahead to find a camping place when 
the train came. I rode to our wagon, got a 
cup and crossed Bitter Creek to get a drink 
of nice, cold spring water. I took one swal- 
low. Oh, oh, oh; the horrid stuff. I was 
glad there was no one with me to see the 
face I made. I think I never swallowed a 
more disagreeable dose. It was the strong- 
est sulphur-water I ever tasted. In my haste 
and eagerness I did not notice that the at- 
mosphere was impregnated with sulphur, 
and the sulphur formations around the 
springs, because they were covered with dust. 

The wind is blowing as cold as Green- 
land. I expect we will have to go to bed to 
keep from freezing. Mrs. Hardinbrooke is 
no better; her symptoms are the same as 
Sim's and Neelie's were at first, and we fear 
she is taking the fever. Dr. Fletcher thinks 
Neelie must be better, or we would have 
heard, as Mr. Kerfoot said he would send 
back for him if she got any worse. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 189 

DELAYED ANOTHER DAY. 

Wednesday, August 2. 
We had a very cold night; there was ice 
a quarter of an inch thick this morning. 
vSeveral head of Hardinbrooke's and Walk- 
er's cattle were missing this morning; the 
men have been hunting them all day, they 
were found this evening in a canon four 
miles from camp; there were the tracks of 
two horses, with shoes, that had driven them 
there. The Indians do not shoe their horses, 
so there must be thieves besides Indians in 
this country. And here we are another whole 
day's drive behind the other half of our 
train. Oh, I wonder if it will be possible to 
overtake them now, before our roads sepa- 
rate entirely. They must be at least two days 
ahead of us, if they have not been delayed. 

Thursday, August 3. 
The mountains in this region are very bar- 
ren, composed of sand and rock, principally. 



190 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

It comes nearer being desert than anywhere 
on the road. We have traveled all day, and 
have come only thirteen miles. The road 
has been very rough indeed. I rode in the 
wagon the greater part of the day, so I could 
take care of little Annie Hardinbrooke ; her 
mother is very sick. I have thought so much 
about Neelie, whenever the wheels would 
strike a rock, or jolt down into a rut; how 
she must have suffered, if in pain or fever; 
how hard it must have been for her. 

Lyde says Dr. Fletcher is very impatient 
and cross, because of the delay; he threat- 
ened to take a horse and go horseback yes- 
terday, when he found the train would not 
move. She thinks he is very anxious about 
Neelie, and very much in love. 

Friday, August 4. 

The wolves howled around our camp all 

last night and kept Caesar — our watch-dog 

— barking; so we could not sleep. Have 

made only a short drive, and are camping at 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 191 

Rock Springs, where the road forks. The 
men are not agreed as to which road to take ; 
the upper — or right-hand road — is the 
shortest, but the lower is best suppHed with 
pasture and water. If we take the upper 
road we cannot hope to see our friends again, 
so Dr. Fletcher and I want to take the lower 
road, for we still hope that we may overtake 
them. 

Mrs. Hardinbrooke is very sick ; I fear we 
are going to have another case of serious 
sickness in our camp. I have taken care of 
Annie again to-day, which seems to be the 
most efficient service I can render, as Lyde 
and Mrs. Joe Walker take care of Mrs. Har- 
dinbrooke when her husband cannot be with 
her. He takes all the care of her at night, 
and a most excellent nurse he seems to be. 
Sim is quite well, only pale and weak. 

Saturday, August 5. 
The decision was made in favor of the 
lower road. As the train was rolling out I 



192 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

had just mounted my pony, when Dr. Flet- 
cher came and asked me to ride with him. 
He has never seemed to care for my com- 
pany, nor I for his until since we have been 
so anxious about Neelie. Our anxiety has 
been a bond of sympathy, and we have rather 
enjoyed each other's society. We had gone 
a short distance ahead of the train when we 
saw someone coming horseback. I soon saw 
that it was Frank. We hurried on to meet 
him. He shook hands without speaking. I 
asked, "How is Neelie?" 

''She is very low. I came after you, doc- 
tor. Our camp is about four miles from 
here; we have waited two days for you, and 
thought you would certainly come yesterday. 
When you did not come, we thought you 
must have gone the upper road, and I was 
going back as far as the first station to in- 
quire if you had passed. I am glad, indeed, 
to meet you, but greatly fear you will not be 
in time to save Neelie." 

The doctor asked two or three questions, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 193 

excused himself and rode away at a gallop, 
leaving Frank and I to follow, while I plied 
him with questions, which he answered pa- 
tiently. He then said, "Neelie was much 
better for a day or two after we left you ; we 
all thought she was getting well; she spoke 
of you every time I saw her, and wondered 
why you did not come. Since the fever came 
back I have not talked to her at all. Part of 
the time she has been delirious, and when 
conscious she was too weak to talk." 

Oh, dear. I do so want to see her and 
help take care of her. 

A FATAL SHOOTING. 

We rode a while in silence, then Frank 
said, "That is not all the bad news I have to 
tell, Miss Sallie." 

I looked up quickly and asked, "What else 
has happened, Frank?" 

"Frasier was shot and killed day before 
yesterday evening." 



194 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

''Oh, Frank; how did it happen?" 

''Hosstetter did it, but I think he was not 
much to blame." 

Frasier is the man who spoke to Cash, 
NeeHe and I, as we were watching the 
wagons ferried across the Missouri River, 
whose son ran away from his mother, and 
home, to come to his father, and go with him 
to Montana. Frasier had teams and wagons 
for freighting, and Hosstetter some capital 
to invest in freight, to take to Montana. 
Frasier advised the purchase of flour, and 
he would freight it to Virginia City for fif- 
teen dollars per cwt. He said flour was 
worth fifty and sixty dollars per hundred in 
Virginia City. (So it was in the Spring of 
1864, and as high as seventy-five and one 
hundred dollars per hundred, which was the 
cause of a bread riot in Virginia City.) 

No doubt Frasier was honest in his ad- 
vice, and would have invested in flour for 
himself. He charged more freight than was 
right, for ten and twelve cents is the prevail- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 195 

ing price; but then Hosstetter should have 
found that out for himself. 

When he found he had been imposed upon 
and learned that flour is retailing at Vir- 
ginia City for $15 per hundred, he was 
angry, dissatisfied, and perhaps quarrelsome. 
Frasier was no doubt very aggravating. 
They had quarreled several times, and the 
evening of the 3d, Frasier was heard to say 
to Hosstetter in a threatening tone : 

*'You may consider yourself lucky if you 
ever see Montana. You need not expect to 
get any of this flour. It will take it all to 
pay the freight." 

It was getting dark, and Frasier stood 
with one hand on a wheel as he talked. 
He then got into the wagon and out again, 
with something in his hand, which Hosstet- 
ter thought was a revolver in the gathering 
darkness. He came back to the wheel where 
he had been standing when he made the 
threat, and Hosstetter thought he had come 
to shoot him, and fired twice, as he thought, 



196 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

to save his own life. Frasier fell, shot 
through the brain, and died instantly. 

Then it was found he had a hatchet in his 
hand, and had come to tighten a tire on the 
wheel, which he had found loose when he 
laid his hand on it. Frasier's eldest son of 
fourteen years is here. There are five chil- 
dren and their mother at home. Hosstetter 
has three children and a wife. Eleven in- 
nocent persons to suffer, no one knows how 
intensely, for that rash act. 

Frasier's son knelt beside his father's 
dead body, and placing his hand on his 
breast, he swore a fearful oath that he would 
have but one purpose in life until his father's 
death is avenged. Oh, what a shocking am- 
bition for so young a boy. 

Frasier and Hosstetter have traveled and 
camped near us all the way from Platts- 
mouth. When the train was organized they 
came into it ; when it was divided they went 
with the others as there were not so many 
of them, and the herd was smaller. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 197 

By the time Frank and I had discussed the 
direful circumstances connected with Fra- 
sier's death, in the presence of this greater 
calamity Neelie's sickness did not seem so 
sad an affliction as it had before, for she is 
not dead, and while there is life there is hope. 

We came in sight of three corrals about 
eight o'clock, camping near together. 

TRIED I^OR MURDER. 

Everything had a funereal appearance. 
Men stood around in small groups talking 
earnestly in a low voice, whittling sticks, the 
incessant occupation of most men when try- 
ing to think. 

Those with whom we are acquainted bowed 
as we passed them, without speaking. I was 
soon off my horse and ready to see Neelie, 
while Frank took Dick to hitch him for me. 

As I approached the tent where Neelie is, 
Mrs. Kerfoot came to meet me. 

"How is she, Aunt Mildred?" I asked 
anxiously. 



198 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

''We think perhaps she is better now. She 
is quiet and resting easy, but she has had a 
very restless night, and the doctor says she 
must be kept perfectly quiet; not the least 
excitement." 

She had led me away from the tent while 
talking. I saw in a flash what she meant. I 
was not to see Neelie. 

"After we left you she kept asking about 
you, and when you did not come, we thought 
perhaps you had gone the short cut, and so 
we told her you had gone the short cut to 
Montana, and we would not see you any 
more. She seemed grieved at first, but be- 
came reconciled to what could not be helped, 
and now, if she should see you of course it 
would excite her, and I know you would not 
do anything that might harm her, or make 
her worse." 

"Oh, no; of course not." 

Emma, Delia and Juddie had come to 
where we were talking. I kissed them all, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 199 

said good-bye, and came away, with a heavy 
heart. 

I unhitched Dick and, leading him by the 
bridle, went on in advance of the trains, se- 
lected a place for the corral, unsaddled Dick, 
and waited for the wagons. I did not have 
long to wait, and the captain was so good 
as to corral on the place I had selected. 

I had a motive in being in advance of the 
other trains. I hoped to get Hillhouse and 
mother to consent to pull out of corral and 
go on if the train did not move. We are 
not in any danger from Indians now, and 
we can go alone if no others choose to go 
with us. I cannot bear to stay here and not 
see Neelie. 

We could not move to-day, but Hillhouse 
says we will to-morrow morning. The men 
from these four trains elected judge, jury, 
prosecuting attorney and lawyer for the de- 
fense, and have tried Hosstetter for murder. 
The jury brought in a verdict of ''Not 



200 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

guilty." He shot in self-defense, as Frasier 
had threatened to kill him. 

Hillhouse served on a jury, the first time 
in his life. He is only twenty. They buried 
Frasier yesterday. Lyde and I visited his 
grave this afternoon. Hosstetter seems very 
remorseful; blames himself for being so 
hasty. 

Sunday, August 6. 

We were up bright and early this morn- 
ing. By the time other camps were at break- 
fast we were ready to start, one other fam- 
ily with us, Mr. Curry, his wife and four 
boys. When Hillhouse spoke to the captain 
about our going on, he said he thought it 
advisable, as our teams are in good con- 
dition, the cattle not at all lame. We can 
make much better time than the train can, as 
so many of the cattle are lame, they will be 
obliged to travel slowly. There is no danger 
from Indians, and after we reach Green 
River pasture will be plentiful, without go- 
ing away frorri camp to find it. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 201 

I climbed into Mrs. Hardinbrooke's 
wagon to tell her good-bye, kissed little An- 
nie as she was sweetly sleeping. Mrs. H. 
seemed sorry to have us go. I met Dr. 
Fletcher as I was leaving Mrs. Hardin- 
brooke and asked about Neelie. 

"She is very low, indeed. Of course, 
while there is life we may hope; but if she 
lives they will have to stay here a week or 
ten days." 

I did not tell him we were leaving, but 
said good morning, and went to find Lyde. 
She was worried and anxious about Milt. 
He has been staying behind the train to drive 
lame oxen almost every day since he has 
been well enough. He is usually in camp by 
10 p. M. Last night he did not come. She 
said, "Brother Joe is quite sick, too. I won- 
der what will happen next?" 

"Oh, Lyde, no very serious calamity has 
happened to you or yours, nor me or mine. 
Let us not borrow trouble, but hope for the 
best. Milt will be here in a little while. I 



202 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

know he is able to take care of himself, and 
he is going to do it." 

WE LEAVE THE TRAIN. 

The wagons had started, so I mounted 
Dick and was ofif. As I came into the road 
I looked back, and saw Milt coming in sight, 
driving his lame oxen. I left the road once 
more and went to Frasier's grave. His son 
has set it with prickly pears, so closely that 
it will make a pretty mound if it grows, and 
will be a protection from wolves, unless their 
hides are thick and tough. Poor boy, he 
must have been seriously scratched while 
transplanting the prickly things, but perhaps 
it was a relief to his mental suffering, to bear 
physical pain while trying to do a last some- 
thing for his poor father. 

I spent a dreary morning. I feel the 
parting with our friends so distressingly. It 
is not likely we will meet again in this life. 
I think Sim is feeling blue over it, too. 

We met a squad of soldiers from Green 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 203 

River going to arrest Hosstetter, and take 
him to Fort Bridger for trial. They say his 
trial was not legal. He and all the wit- 
nesses will have to go by the way of Fort 
Bridger, and will perhaps be detained for 
some time. I do hope for his own and his 
family's sake he will be cleared. The upper 
road from Rock Springs goes by the way of 
Fort Bridger, I think, for the soldiers spoke 
as if it was not on this road. 

We arrived at Green River about three 
o'clock. The river is about as wide, deep 
and swift as the North Platte, yet I have not 
dreaded any of the rivers we have crossed 
as I did dread to ford this one. Perhaps it 
was because there are so few of us, for in 
numbers there is a feeling of security, even 
in crossing deep and dangerous streams. 
We crossed without accident or loss, and are 
camping on the west bank of Green River. 
When we first came to the river, one of Mr. 
Curry's boys exclaimed : 

''Well, this river is named right. If I had 



204 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

been going to name it, I believe I would 
have named it Green River, too, for it is 
green." 

The water is very clear, yet the river has a 
bluish-green appearance. I do not under- 
stand why. 

There are several corrals along the river, 
but the people are strangers, so we feel very 
much alone. There is a station here and 
soldiers' tents within sight. We are camp- 
ing on blue grass, with the mountains very 
close. They are the highest I have seen. I 
would like to climb to the top, but mother 
says there are too many soldiers and strang- 
ers around. 

At the foot of the mountain, a little way 
from our camp, there is a graveyard with 
about a dozen graves. It is a beautiful spot, 
with the mountain for an enduring monu- 
ment. Several of the graves have been made 
this year, with names and dates quite dis- 
tinct on the plain pine headboards. Others 
are entirely worn or washed off by the re- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 205 

lentless hand of time and storm. It seems 
that Bitter Creek was too much for the weak 
or frail constitutions. Like Moses, they 
were permitted to look upon the better land 
before they died. 

Monday, August 7. 

The soldiers brought Hosstetter here in 
the night, and I suppose the witnesses came 
too. I wanted to go to the station to see if 
I could hear anything from Neelie, and the 
rest of the sick folks, but mother did not 
want me to go where there are so many 
soldiers, so I did not go. We started very 
early this morning and have driven about 
twenty miles. Are camping on Black Fork, 
where the horses and cattle are just wading 
in fine pasture right around camp. 

We ascended a mountain this morning 
that was seven miles from base to summit, 
the way the road is. We had toilsome climb- 
ing, and I guess the teams found it a hard 
road to travel before we reached the top. I 



2o6 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

came on in advance of the wagons, some- 
times riding and sometimes leading Dick 
where it was very steep, and had time to en- 
joy the magnificent scenery that lay spread 
out on all sides. The snowy range could be 
seen in the distance, glittering in the morn- 
ing sunshine. The wild currants are here in 
abundance. I am going fishing with the 
boys, so I must be off. 

WILD CURRANTS GALORE. 

Tuesday, August 8. 

We caught fish enough for breakfast last 
evening, and gathered currants enough for 
sauce, but I spoilt the sauce by putting the 
sugar in, when I put them on to cook, they 
hardened and were not fit to eat. I have 
been experimenting to-day and have suc- 
ceeded in making a nice cobbler. 

I did not sweeten at all before baking, but 
made the sauce sweet enough to sweeten all. 
I also made a fine sauce by cooking the cur- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 207 

rants only a s^ery few minutes, and putting 
in the sugar after they were cooked. We 
will have currant dumplings for dinner to- 
morrow. We have picked a lot, enough to 
make sauce and pies and other good things 
for a week. The currants are a beautiful 
fruit, and some are as large as small cher- 
ries. We are waiting at Camp Plentiful, in 
the hope that some of the wagons from the 
train will drive in before night. 

There are three wigwams within sight of 
our camp. Sim and Hillhouse went hunting 
to-day. On their way back they stopped at 
the wigwams and found them occupied by 
white men with squaws for wives. Ugh ! 

Wednesday, August 9. 
Somehow I felt a little suspicious of those 
white men living with squaws, and feared 
some of our horses might be missing this 
morning, but my suspicions were groundless. 
Our horses and cattle were all here, well fed 
and ready for a long drive. We were off 



2o8 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

bright and early, without seeing any one 
from the train. 

We passed the Bridger Road, where our 
friends going to CaHfornia will turn off, so 
we are not likely to see them again, perhaps 
for years, perhaps never again in this life. 

There is a very fine ranch at the junction 
of the roads, where w^e stopped at noon. Two 
men from this ranch visited our camp this 
evening. They were rather fine looking, 
genteel in appearance, dressed in civilization 
style, but for some unexplainable reason, I 
was afraid of them. They tried to be very 
cordial and polite. They engaged Sim in 
conversation, and plied him with pertinent 
questions, such as : 

''Who owns those big American mares?" 
(referring to our horse team). 

"They are the property of a widow." 

"Whose bay pony is that?" 

'Tt belongs to the widow's daughter." 

"Who is the owner of that chestnut sor- 
rel?" 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 209 

"Mr. Curry, father of those boys playing 
over there." 

They asked many more questions. Where 
we came from? Where we are going? 
What we expect to do, etc. 

Sim answered them patiently and civilly. 
He thinks they are horse thieves, but hopes 
they will not be mean enough to steal from 
a widow. As if horse thieves care who they 
steal from. No doubt, their ranch is stocked 
with stolen horses and cattle, for they have 
things as they choose away out here, where 
there is no law, except the law of might. 

God's Word says, "As the partridge sit- 
teth on eggs, and hatcheth them not; so he 
that getteth riches, and not by right, shall 
leave them in the midst of his days, and at 
his end shall be a fool" (Ter. 17: 11). 

We are camping on Ham's Fork, where 
the currants and fish are very plentiful, and 
the pasture very fine. We had our currant 
dumplings for dinner. They were lovely. 
No one can imagine how we appreciate this 



210 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

fruit by the wayside, except those who have 
been deprived of the strawberries, raspber- 
ries, blackberries and cherries, each in their 
season, and confined to the sameness and 
tameness of diet, which people making this 
trip are necessarily confined to. This fruit 
would seem inferior among other cultivated 
fruits, but where it is, it seems a luxury pro- 
vided for our benefit. 

Thursday, August lo. 
We went fishing at noon. It is such fun 
to fish in water so clear that we can see 
the fish biting at the hook. They do not 
seem at all afraid, and sometimes there will 
be two, three, or four grabbing at the hook 
at the same time. Such shoving, pushing 
and crowding as they all try to get the tempt- 
ing bait. How eager and unsuspecting they 
are. Soon the strongest or fleetest, or rather 
the most unfortunate one seizes it. Away 
goes bait, hook and all, and then out comes 
a fish on dry land. I give a shiver of pity 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 211 

for the unlucky fish, as I call to the boys: 
"I have another." 

It does seem such a cruel thing to take 
them from their pleasant home in the deep, 
clear, cool water. But then, ''Life is sus- 
tained by death." And thousands upon 
thousands of lives are taken daily to nourish 
and sustain human life. We are in a beau- 
tiful place, where all things necessary for 
camping are plentiful, and we are all alone, 
no corral within sight ; the first time we have 
been entirely alone. 

Friday, August 11. 
One or other of the boys stood guard last 
night. It proved an unnecessary precaution. 
There was no disturbance either from 
horse thieves, Indians, or wild beasts. We 
are living fine since we crossed Green River. 
We have fresh fish for breakfast and some- 
times for dinner. Wild game of some kind 
for dinner, with currant pudding, cobbler, or 
dumplings, with rich cream for dessert. We 



212 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

may possibly go hungry next Winter at Vir- 
ginia City, but there is no danger of starving 
while we stay on Ham's Fork. 

The weather is perfect. I have been rid- 
ing my pony the greater part of the day, 
sometimes one of Mr. Curry's little boys 
with me, and sometimes alone. I have en- 
joyed the delightful atmosphere — it seems 
so pure and invigorating; the scenery is 
beautiful, and it has been a glorious day. 

MR. curry's horse STOLEN. 

Saturday, August 12. 
It was considered unnecessary for any one 
to stand guard last night, as we had come 
two days' travel from where the suspicious 
characters live. So all went to bed, retired 
early, slept soundly, and even neglected to 
put Caesar's rug in its usual place — under 
our wagon — so he went into the tent with 
Mr. Curry's boys to find a comfortable bed, 
leaving the camp entirely unguarded. One of 
our big horses wears a bell. I was awakened 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 213 

in the night by hearing an unusual rattHng, 
and the horses came galloping up to the 
wagons. Dick whinnied. I raised the 
wagon cover and spoke to him, and he com- 
menced cropping the grass. The other horses 
were in sight, but not eating. They seemed 
frightened, and just then Caesar came tear- 
ing out of the tent and ran toward the road 
barking fiercely. The moon was shining 
brightly. I looked out at the back of the 
wagon, but could not discover anything 
wrong, but evidently there was something 
wrong, for Mr. Curry's horse was gone this 
morning. 

Mr. Curry, Sim and Hillhouse have been 
hunting the horse all day, but without suc- 
cess, except to find certain evidence that it 
had been stolen. They found the camp-fire, 
where three horses had been tied for some 
time. They then found where four horses 
had traveled, so they concluded there were 
three men after the horses. 

The bo^^s think it was the merest accident 



214 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

that our horses are not gone too, but I be- 
lieve it was providential care that kept them 
for us. Mr. Curry is anxious to stay and try 
to recover his horse. I believe, as the boys 
do, that it will be a waste of effort, for if 
men are mean enough to steal a horse they 
will manage to keep it. But we do not like 
to offer too many objections, as it might 
seem like selfishness on our part, as we are 
not the losers. 

Oh, dear, why don't people be good, and 
do as they would be done by? How much 
happier this world would be if there were no 
thieves nor wicked people in it. I know 
it is hard for Mr. Curry to give up his fine 
horse without making an effort to get it 
back. Yet I feel sure he will not get it. For 
if he found it he could not force the thieves 
to give it to him. 

ANXIOUSLY WAITING AT HAM's FORK. 

Sunday, August 13. 
It was decided this morning that Hill- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 215 

house, Sim and Mr. Curry would go in pur- 
suit of the horse thieves. Sim is just recov- 
ering from a severe sickness, and is not able 
to go on such a trip, but he positively refused 
to stay in camp and let Hillhouse and Mr. 
Curry go without him. I believe it will 
prove a wild goose chase, so mother and I 
exacted a promise from Hillhouse that he 
will not stay away to-night. We are look- 
ing for him. It is getting dark. Surely 
they will not leave us here in this wilderness 
with only two boys and Caesar for protec- 
tion. If we are left alone, I shall take my 
turn, with Winthrop and Alex. Curry stand- 
ing guard in camp. Sim rode Dick this 
morning, the others walked. What they ex- 
pect to do if they find the thieves (which 
they are not likely to do) I do not know. 

Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, Mr. and Mrs. 
Bower, Nellie and Alton, and Mr. Grier's 
teams passed here to-day. They left the 
train the next morning after we did. The 
train had not started then. They said Neelie 



2i6 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

was about as when we left, and Mrs. Har- 
dinbrooke was no worse. 

Monday, August 14. 

Hillhouse came in about an hour after 
dark. He was very tired and hungry; had 
walked since early morning until he started 
back at three o'clock. He tried to prevail 
upon Sim to return, and let him go on with 
Mr. Curry if he must go. But Sim would 
not listen to such a proposition, although he 
is still weak from his late sickness. Mr. 
Curry thinks he will find his horse at the 
ranch near the junction, although the trail 
they were following led away from, instead 
of toward it. If he finds it, he will go back 
to the train and get the men to help him get 
it either by fair means or by force. 

He then proposed that they keep Dick, but 
they said he would not reach camp before 
midnight on foot and he might lose his way, 
but Dick would take him the shortest route 
if he w^ould just let him go his own way, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 217 

which he did, and he brought him safe about 
an hour after dark. 

I am so sorry for Mrs. Curry. She tries 
to be brave for her children's sake, but any 
one can see she suffers, and Alex says she 
does not eat at all, just takes a cup of tea 
once in a while. 

Tuesday, August 15. 

Another day has come and gone, and the 
wanderers have not returned. Hillhouse 
said he did not expect them to-day, but 
would look for them to-morrow, for they 
will not have anything to eat after to-day, 
and will be obliged to leave the foot hills and 
come to the road, whether they find the horse 
or not, to get something to eat. 

A party of emigrants stopped near us to- 
day at noon, and one of the men came to our 
camp. We, of course, asked if they had 
seen the Hardinbrooke train. They passed 
the train Sunday. They were still where we 
left them at the west end of Bitter Creek. 
He saw and talked to the captain, who told 



2i8 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

him to tell us, if he caught up with us, ''The 
sick folks are all better, and they expect to 
come to Green River Monday." They may 
catch up with us yet. 

I do not know what we would do with 
ourselves if it were not for the currants. We 
are making jelly, and as it takes lots of cur- 
rants to make a little jelly, we have not suf- 
fered from enforced idleness, with our sus- 
pense and anxiety. 

Wednesday, August i6. 

There are three varieties of currants here. 
The yellow ones are not very plentiful. 
They are the largest and best. I have made 
a pickle jar full of the loveliest jelly. It is 
the color of gold and as clear as crystal. 
The red currants are very plentiful and more 
like the tame currants, though they do not 
yield as much juice. 

We gather the bushes by the armful, and 
carry them to camp, and sitting near each 
other, we pick off the currants. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 219 

Though we do not talk much, we Hke to 
be near each other. Another day and they 
have not come, and another night of anxiety 
before us. 



THE WANDERERS RETURN. 

Thursday, August 17. 

I was awakened very early this morning, 
as soon as it was light, by hearing Hillhouse 
bustling about making a fire in the stove, as 
if in a hurry for his breakfast. I dressed as 
quickly as possible, and hastened out to see 
what it meant — for it was only four o'clock. 
When I asked for an explanation, he said : 

'T am going to hunt those men. I can't 
stand this any longer. I have laid awake 
almost all night thinking about them." 

"What can you do? You will be lost 
yourself." 

"No danger of that. I will go back on the 
road as far as Green River, get some of the 



220 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

soldiers and some of the boys that know 
them, and we will hunt until we find them, or 
know what has become of them. T may meet 
them on the road and return to-night, but I 
will not come until I bring them with me, or 
know their fate." 

I could not object to his going, but oh, 
how my heart sank at the thought. 

Wq made all haste to get breakfast, and 
Hillhouse was all ready to start when Mrs. 
Curry and the boys came out. Mrs. Curry 
seemed both glad and sorry he was going, 
said she hardly knew which. I had supplied 
him with pencil and paper, and he promised 
to send us word every opportunity. He 
mounted Dick and rode away without saying 
good-bye. 

He had gone almost out of sight. One 
moment more and a bend in the road would 
hide him from our view. When, lo, there is 
a gun fired not far off. 

My thought was Indians, and I looked to 
see if Hillhouse was hurt. He was waving 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 221 

his hat furiously and came tearing back to 
camp. Then I heard Mrs. Curry cry out : 

''Oh, it is my husband." And she dropped 
in a heap on the ground, and cried out loud. 

They were plainly visible by that time, 
coming over the hill and down to the creek 
and through it, before any one could show 
them where they could cross without getting 
wet. 

All was excitement for a while. The 
meeting between Mr. Curry and his family 
was very touching, indeed. I think Mrs. 
Curry had about lost all hope of ever seeing 
him again. 

How famished and worn out they did 
seem to be. Sim was utterly exhausted. I 
do not believe he could have gone another 
half mile. We gave Sim a bowl of bread 
and milk, and a cup of coffee. Then the 
boys helped him to bed in our wagon, be- 
cause it is on springs and we expected 
to start before he waked. Within one hour 
after they reached camp Sim was sleeping 



222 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

the sleep of exhaustion. We did not ask any 
questions, nor let him talk at all, before he 
went to sleep. 

Mrs. Curry prepared the best breakfast 
the camp could afford for her husband, and 
as the family had not breakfasted, they all 
sat down together. She came for Sim to 
take breakfast with them, but he was sound 
asleep, and I would not have had him awak- 
* ened for the best breakfast ever prepared. 
Perhaps Mr. Curry can stand eating such a 
meal after starving so long, but I believe it 
would kill Sim in his weak condition, for he 
is not fully recovered from his recent ill- 
ness. 

We made all haste to start once more, and 
by eight o'clock were on the way. We had 
left the camp where we spent five such 
anxious, distressful days. Sim did not 
awaken until after ten o'clock. We gave 
him some fish and bread and milk, which 
we had ready for him. When he had eaten, 
he lay in bed and told mother and I the fol- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 223 

lowing narrative of what had befallen them 
since they left camp : 

sim's story o^ their wanderings. 

''After Hill left us that first afternoon, we 
walked on as fast as we could, as long as we 
could follow the trail. Then made a fire, 
ate some supper without anything to drink. 
We had not seen water since noon. 

"We rolled up in our blankets and lay 
down with our feet to the fire and tried to 
sleep. I am sure I did not sleep an hour, I 
was so tired and nervous. As soon as it was 
light enough to see, we were up and ate a 
dry breakfast, for we could find no water in 
the vicinity. We were soon following the 
trail. Before night we had eaten all our 
grub, and found no water. Oh, what would 
I have given for a cup of cold water? It 
seemed that we must find water or perish. 
We dragged on as long as we could see; 
then lay down and slept from exhaustion. 
When we awoke it was light. 



224 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

"I was so weak that Mr. Curry had to 
help me to get on my feet. I declared I could 
go no further. Mr. Curry prevailed on me 
to try, for we must be near Green River. I 
made a desperate effort, and dragged on for 
half a mile perhaps, Mr. Curry carrying my 
blanket, when I positively could go no 
further, and told Mr. Curry to go on and 
leave me and try to save himself. Mr. 
Curry was desperate. He said : 'I must find 
something to eat.' He covered me with the 
blankets and went to look for some kind of 
game. 

"When he had gone about a hundred 
yards he saw a bird about the size of a par- 
tridge sitting on a limb ready to be shot. He 
took careful aim and shot its head off. He 
hastened back to where I lay, made a fire, 
skinned the bird, and held it on a sharpened 
stick before the fire and roasted it thorough- 
ly. I would have eaten it when half done, 
but Mr. Curry would not let me have it until 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 225 

well cooked, for fear it would make me 
sick. 

'1 never tasted fowl that tasted so good as 
that did, although we ate it without salt. 
After eating I felt better, and made another 
effort to move on. We had gone only a little 
way when Mr. Curry stopped, listened a 
moment, and exclaimed: There, hear the 
rushing of the river?' 

"I could not hear it at first, but soon I 
heard the glad sound too. It gave us cour- 
age, and with renewed energy we pushed on, 
and before eleven o'clock we reached the 
river. We slacked our thirst, cautiously, at 
first, then had a bath and were refreshed. 

''While I rested on the bank, Mr. Curry 
looked up and down the river for the trail, 
which had gone into the river. He did not 
find it. W^e then started for the road, which 
we came into in about an hour, just below 
the ranch at the junction. 

"A party of emigrants had stopped for 
noon, who gladly gave food and refreshment 



226 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

to US weary wanderers. While I was rest- 
ing, Mr. Curry investigated the ranch, 
looked among the horses in the pasture, 
peeped in stables, but did not find his horse.* 

"After Mr. Curry had given up getting 
his horse he was all eagerness to get back to 
his family, but considering how very weak I 
was, he consented to stay with the kind peo- 
ple we had fallen in with until morning, so 
we traveled with them, and I rested in a 
wagon all afternoon. 

"At the first peep of dawn Mr. Curry was 
up and awakened me. I felt refreshed and 
ready for our early walk. Mr. Curry ex- 
plored the grub-box, found some bread and 
meat, which he appropriated, leaving green- 
backs to pay for our entertainment. 

"We expected to reach camp by ten 
o'clock p. M._, but I gave completely out, and 

*Those men at the junction did steal Mr. Curry's 
horse. The men in the Hardinbrooke train saw 
them in their corral, and asked, "Where did you get 
that horse?" They answered, "From a man by the 
name of Curry. Paid $150 for him." 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 227 

we were obliged to lie down and rest when 
about five miles from camp. I slept until 
awakened this morning before it was light by 
Mr. Curry, who was so anxious to be on the 
way I wondered that he let me sleep so long. 

"We came over the foot-hills, instead of 
by the road, and saved about a mile in dis- 
tance. We saw Hill riding away from camp 
and felt sure he was starting to try and find 
us. Mr. Curry fired his gun to attract his 
attention, and you know the rest." 

He turned over and went to sleep again, 
and slept until we stopped for noon. We 
made a long drive to-day and are camping 
at the foot of Bear River mountain. 

We had a hard rain and hail storm this af- 
ternoon. It was very violent while it lasted, 
and we halted by the roadside until it was 
over. It was over in half an hour. 

Mr. Curry has suffered with a severe 
headache and high fever all day, the result 
of that hearty breakfast this morning after 
fasting so long. 



228 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

BEAR RIVER MOUNTAIN. 

Friday, at noon, August i8. 

I am on the summit of Bear River Moun- 
tain, in the border of a beautiful grove of 
pine and quaking-asp, near a spring of the 
most dehcious ice-cold water. I must be 
some miles ahead of the wagons that I left 
toiling up the steep mountain side. Yet I 
do not feel that I am alone. Oh, no. I feel 
that God is here in his might, majesty, 
power and glory. I feel His nearness now, 
and as I gaze from these dizzy heights upon 
the country spread out beneath my feet, I am 
lost in admiration, the scene is so grand, so 
magnificent, that I forget my own vanity 
and nothingness. I feel that I am standing 
upon an altar raised by Nature's grateful 
hand up to Nature's God, and that I could 
offer myself a willing sacrifice. 

This is emphatically one of the high and 
sacred spots of earth. How manifold, how 
wonderful are the works of Nature : Every- 
where something worthy of our highest ad- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 229 

miration is presented to view; everywhere 
do we see the manifestation of an invisible 
and omnipotent Creator. The terrific storm, 
the broad prairies, the majestic forest, excite 
within our bosoms emotions of awe and ad- 
miration, yet there are no places on earth 
that I have seen which have a tendency to 
inspire me with such tender feelings, such 
elevated, pure, holy thoughts as mountains. 
Oh, it seems that one could never sin, or 
have an evil thought, in such a place as this. 
Behold the mountains as they stand upon 
their broad bases, contemplate them as they 
rear their snowy tops in awful, majestic 
grandeur above the clouds, view them as 
you will, and they ever present the same un- 
tiring pleasure to the mind. 

Men and women will travel thousands of 
miles and make the greatest exertion to 
climb the rugged steeps of mountains, to en- 
joy for one short hour the charming pros- 
pect. I have wondered at this sometimes, as 
I have read of their hazardous exploits in 



230 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

trying to obtain a point where they could 
have the finest view, but I never shall again. 

A country destitute of mountains may be 
fertile and productive of all that conduces 
to human happiness, yet it will lack the es- 
sential of attractive moral grandeur. 

It may enchant the imagination for a mo- 
ment to look over prairies and plains as far 
as the eye can reach, still such a view is 
tedious and monotonous. It can in no wise 
produce that rapturing delight, that pleasing 
variety of the sublime and beautiful of land- 
scape scenery which mountains afford. 

Let those whose tastes are on a level with 
the ground they tread feel proud of and ad- 
mire their prairie fields, but give to me a 
mountain home. 

The wagons are almost at the top, and as 
mother has driven up the steep ascent, I will 
drive down the western slope, and have 
mother ride Dick, and enjoy the delight- 
some scenery as we descend the mountain- 
side, which looks very steep from here. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 231 

We were all the evening crossing the 
mountain, and it was a hard drive. We 
are camping at the foot of the mountain 
near a spring in Bear River Valley, within 
calling distance of the Chilicothe train. 

We passed two freight wagons on the 
mountain-side that were rather badly 
smashed up. One had upset, and crackers in 
a broken-up condition, and other debris from 
family groceries were scattered about. 

We learned that the wagons are Dr. 
Yager's, and he has gone somewhere to get 
the wheels mended. We are quite disap- 
pointed that he is away, for Sim is not so 
well as he was yesterday, has had fever and 
been flighty and in a stupor this afternoon. 
He needs medical treatment, and we hoped 
to have Dr. Yager prescribe for him. 

We passed eight graves on the mountain, 
one a young lady twenty years old from 
Monroe County, Missouri. A beautiful 
resting place for the dead. Mrs. Yager is 
quite sick, and seems sadly disheartened. 



232 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Thinks crossing the plains and mountains in 
a wagon (they have a very comfortable car- 
riage) is a sad, discouraging, never-to-be- 
repeated experiment. I am sorry she could 
not enjoy the fine prospect on the mountain- 
top, for she is a lady who would appreciate 
such grandeur to the fullest under favorable 
circumstances. 

We reached level ground without acci- 
dent, and were glad to come up with friends 
we had met before on the road. 

WE MEET CAPTAIN HARDINBROOKE's 
BROTHER. 

Saturday, August 19. 

We left the Chilicothe train this morning. 
As it will take all day to get the wagons 
mended, they cannot start to-day. We came 
on to Bear River, reached here a little after 
noon, and will stay here until to-morrow. 

We crossed a toll bridge on Smith's Fork, 
and met Captain Hardinbrooke's brother at 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 23,-? 

the bridge. He is going to meet the train. 
He did not know of Mrs. Hardinbrooke's 
ilhiess. He asked very especially and with 
some confusion, ''Is Miss Walker well?" 

Ah, I think *1 know who he is going to 
meet, and understand some things that have 
not been very clear to me before. "Ah, ha, 
Miss Lyde, you have guarded your secret 
well, but see if I have not guessed it now?" 
Well, he is very nice looking, and if he 
makes as good a husband as his brother, he 
will no doubt be worth coming to Montana 
for. I wish you joy, and that I may be pres- 
ent at the wedding festivities. 

The boys have gone fishing, all but Sim. 
Poor boy he is too sick again. I feel very 
much out of patience with Mr. Curry, be- 
cause of the tramp he led Sim when in so 
weak a condition. 

Sunday, August 20. 
We passed a grave this morning that was 
made yesterday for a young mother and her 



234 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

new-born babe. Oh, how sad. With what 
an aching heart must that husband and 
father go on his weary way, leaving his 
loved ones by the roadside. 

We crossed another toll bridge. It seems 
to me that emigrants are greatly imposed 
upon by these men who claim toll. They 
throw a very poor excuse of a bridge across 
a stream that could be easily forded if let 
alone, but they spoil the crossing by digging 
ditches and throwing in bush and timbers 
to obstruct the fording, then build a cabin, 
close to the bridge, and squat to make a for- 
tune by extorting large toll from emigrants, 
who have not the time to stop and contend 
for their rights. It seems a shameful busi- 
ness. 

While stopping at noon we saw a com- 
pany of Indians coming down the road 
toward our wagons. My first sensation was 
fear, but upon reflection I knew that is not 
the way they go on the warpath, and by the 
time they reached camp I was ready to say 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 235 

"How," and try to talk to them. There was 
one that could understand English and 
talked quite well. 

They are Bannocks, the tribe that was 
conquered in Idaho some years ago. Their 
chief was with them. He held a stiff neck 
and tried to look dignified, and only looked 
ridiculous. They are going on a buffalo 
hunt. It seems that the whole tribe are go- 
ing, squaws, pappooses and all. 

We have been meeting them all afternoon 
and are camping with them all around us 
to-night. They all seem to want my pony. 
I have been asked at least twenty times this 
afternoon to ''Swap." I gave all the same 
answer, "No swap." Why, I would not 
give my Dick for twenty of their ponies. 

The squaws and pappooses are around our 
camp to-night begging biscuit. They are 
the greatest beggars I ever saw. I do won- 
der if they are hungry ? 

We crossed the steepest, straight up and 
down mountain to-day that we have crossed 



236 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

yet. It seemed that the wagons would turn 
a somersault as we were making the descent. 

Sim was too sick to sit up, and he would 
slide down in a heap, bed, bedclothes and 
all, against the seat and grub-box. We 
stopped twice to have him helped back into 
place. When we reached level ground he 
was all piled up again. Poor Sim, he is very 
sick. I do wish we could come across a 
physician. We have administered simple 
remedies, but seemingly without effect. 

There is an old lady ninety-three years 
old in a train camping near us to-night. She 
is cheerful as a lark, sings sometimes, and is 
an incessant talker. 

She says she is going to Oregon, where 
she expects to renew her youth. She looks 
very old and wrinkled in the face, but is very 
active in her movements, and not at all 
stooped. The people she is with are not at 
all refined or cultured, but I do like to talk 
to the old lady, she is so quaint. It makes 
mother seem quite a young woman to see 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 237 

her with an old lady more than forty years 
older than she is. Why, she seems just in 
the prime of life, and we had thought her 
growing old. 

MORMON TOWNS IN IDAHO. 

Monday, August 21. 
Since we crossed the last steep mountain 
the horse flies have been very troublesome, 
the first that have bothered us all summer. 
I wonder if the Indians brought them? 

We came through two villages to-day; 
they are about five miles apart. The first 
Bennington, the last Montpelier— pretty 
large names for such small places. They are 
Mormon towns, although this is Idaho Ter- 
■ ritory. The women appeared sad and sor- 
rowful enough to be the wives of Mormons. 
I did not see one of them smile. Our 
wagons were thronged with women and 
children selling butter, eggs, cheese and 
vegetables. They sold eggs at seventy-five 



238 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

cents per dozen, butter seventy cents per 
pound, cheese fifty cents, potatoes twenty- 
five cents, and everything else in proportion. 
The prices seemed enormous to us, but I pre- 
sume we would have purchased if they had 
been double what they were, for we are 
about starved for such things. Just think 
of spending a whole summer without garden 
productions. 

This is a beautiful valley. Too good to 
be possessed by a community of bigamists. 
What a stigma upon the Government of 
these United States that whole communities 
are allowed to live criminal lives with im- 
punity. I wonder how many are paying the 
penalty for bigamy in the penitentiaries of 
the United States? What is crime in one 
place, under the same Government, I would- 
think, would be crime in all other places, if 
the one did happen to be an isolated case, 
while the other is in large numbers, or 
wholesale. I suppose I am not well enough 
versed in law and politics to understand why 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 239 

it is crime in one place and not in the other. 
We are camping eight miles from Mont- 
pelier. Sim is much better to-day. 

Tuesday, August 22. 

Here we are at Soda Springs. I am sur- 
prised to see so small a town, for it is quite 
an old place for this western country, at least 
ten or fifteen years old, and does not have a 
post-office. The town is beautifully situ- 
ated, the landscape views are glorious. The 
soda springs are bubbling up out of the 
ground in many places in this vicinity, and 
I expect there will be a city here some day. 
There are medicinal springs here that pos- 
sess wonderful curative properties, or people 
think they do. We wanted Sim to test them, 
but he said : 

'T am getting well as fast as possible, and 
I don't care to drink that nauseous water. I 
prefer the pure, unadulterated snow water 
from the mountain springs." 

This is the junction of the Oregon and 



240 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Montana roads. There are three camps 
within sight of us. 

Wednesday, August 23. 

As we drove into the road this morning 
there was a train of eight wagons came into 
line just behind our wagons, and have trav- 
eled with us all day, stopping at noon when 
we did, and they are camping near us to- 
night, though we have separate camps. 
They are from Missouri, and are going to 
Virginia City. They seem to think as we 
all came from the same State, and our des- 
tination is the same place, that of course 
there is a bond of fellowship that is mu- 
tual, but to be frank, I must confess I do 
not care to go into a strange place in their 
company, for I fear we would be judged by 
the company we keep, and I think it would 
not be very favorable, so we will try to get 
away from them as soon as possible. 

The weather is perfect. This is a beauti- 
ful valley. The men say the land is ex- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 241 

tremely rich. We are camping on the 
Blackfoot. We have not been able to shake 
our Missouri friends. 

WE MEET MEN RETURNING TO THE STATES. 

Thursday, August 24. 

We came to a toll bridge over the Black- 
foot this morning, where the toll was one 
dollar per team, and fifty cents for horseback 
riders. There had been an excellent ford 
just below the bridge. The men collecting 
the toll had spoiled it by digging ditches on 
both sides near the bank. The water was 
clear, and they were plainly visible. Hill- 
house mounted Dick to see if we could ford 
it. One of the men screamed out at him: 
*'You will mire your horse if you try that." 

"I'll risk it." And he rode in below where 
the ditches were dug. The pony's feet were 
not muddy. Hillhouse found we could 
easily ford the creek below the ditches, which 
we did without accident. 

It does seem a shame that we should have 



242 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

to pay toll for crossing a stream like that, 
after fording South Platte, North Platte 
and Green River. 

The Missourians refused to pay the ex- 
orbitant price, and offered them fifty cents 
per wagon. They swore they would not take 
a cent less than one dollar. But the travelers 
were too many for them, and they drove 
over and did not pay a cent. The toll men 
were fearfully angry, and made great 
threats, but the men dared them to do their 
worst and laughed at them. 

I do hope we will get ahead of these people 
to-morrow. They are not the kind of people 
I like to travel with. 

We have met as many as twenty men to- 
day going back to the States from the Vir- 
ginia City mines. George Mays was with 
them. I mentioned about his leaving the 
train to go through on horseback, expecting 
to get his meals at stations and emigrant 
trains, when his brother with his bride went 
to Colorado. Says he worked just one day 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 243 

and got five dollars for it, and took the back 
track the next day. 

"Mining is the only work a man can get 
to do, and it would kill an ordinary man in 
less than a week." 

He is distressingly homesick. He is go- 
ing to Denver to his brother. 

Friday, August 25. 

We were up at the first peep of dawn, had 
breakfast, and were hitching up to start, 
when the folks in the eight wagons began 
to emerge and light their camp fires, so we 
have left them some distance behind. We 
have been meeting men all day returning 
from the mines. They give a doleful ac- 
count of the hard times in Montana. They 
say : "There are a few fortunate ones who 
are making money like dirt, but they are the 
exception, about one in a hundred." 

One man was very anxious to buy Dick. 
I told him : "This pony is not for sale," and 
rode away before he could say anything 



244 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

more. The boys say we have met as many 
as two hundred men to-day returning from 
the mines. I beHeve we are all somewhat 
discouraged this evening. We have always 
heard such flattering reports from Alder 
Gulch and Virginia City. 

Friday, August 26. 
We have overtaken Mr. Grier, Mr. Bower 
and Mr. Kennedy. Some of Mr. Bower's 
cattle have eaten a poisonous herb — wild 
larkspur, I believe it is. One ox has died 
and several are poisoned, but will not die. 
They got the poison weed the day before yes- 
terday, when they stopped at noon. I am 
glad we have overtaken them, but sorry for 
their misfortune. Hillhouse has just now 
come in, and says Joe, one of our big white 
oxen, is poisoned. He came for remedies 
and to sharpen his knife to bleed him. No 
doubt he got the poison the same place Mr. 
Bower's cattle did when we stopped for 
noon. Sim, Hillhouse and Winthrop have 
gone to his relief. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 245 

MOTHER AND I SAVE JOE's LI^E. 

Later. — The boys came back very much 
discouraged after working an hour, and 
said: "The blood will not flow, and he is 
swelling frightfully. I fear he will die, for 
when the blood will not run and the animal 
begins to swell, they cannot be saved." 

Mother said: ''We will not let him die 
without further effort, at least. Come on, 
Sarah, let us try what we can do for him." 

We melted a quart of lard and put it in 
a long-necked bottle (that we had brought 
for the purpose of drenching horses or cat- 
tle), cut up a lot of fat bacon into strips, 
put on our big aprons, and taking a bucket 
of cold water, we were ready. Hillhouse 
said : ''Don't give him water." I answered, 
"You never mind, who is doing this?" 

We were not long finding poor Joe. He 
seemed to be suffering dreadfully. His nose 
was as hot as fire. It actually burned my 
hands when I took hold of it to drench him 



246 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

with the lard. He seemed to know we were 
trying to help him, and did not resist at all 
when I put the bottle in the side of his mouth 
to pour the lard down his throat. He looked 
at us with his great, soft, patient eyes in 
such a docile, knowing manner, I felt sure he 
would not bite me, so I put my hand away 
down his throat to make him swallow the 
strips of fat bacon. He swallowed them as 
patiently as if he knew what they were for. 
We then bathed his nose with the cold water, 
without letting him drink any, and before 
we came away he seemed relieved, and the 
swelling had stopped and he breathed much 
better. I believe he will live. 

Saturday, August 2y. 

Joe did not die. This morning when Hill- 
house went to see about him, expecting to 
find him dead, he was grazing, and seemed 
as well as ever, except his nose, which looks 
as if it had been scalded. 

We came to Snake River ferry this morn- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 247 

ing, six miles from where we camped last 
night. We paid eight dollars for our outfit 
crossing on the ferry. As Nellie Bower and I 
were standing on the bank of the river watch- 
ing the wagons being ferried over, holding 
our ponies by their bridles, a gentleman came 
near. Lifting his hat and bowing politely, 
he said to me: "I will give one hundred 
dollars in clean gold dust for that pony." 
''This pony is not for sale, sir, at any price." 

We came from the ferry about two miles, 
and stopped for lunch. I told Hillhouse 
what the man said. 

*'If I w^ere 3^ou, I would certainly sell him, 
so many seem to want him. He will very 
likely be stolen." 

"Oh, I can't sell my pony." 

After lunch the men folks went to fish in 
Snake River. They had been gone but a few 
minutes, when the man that wanted Dick 
rode into camp. He rode straight to our 
wagons, and said : 



248 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

4 

''I will give you one hundred and ten dol- 
lars for that pony." 

I had begun to relent somewhat. I felt 
that it would not do to be sentimental under 
existing circumstances. We had spent al- 
most ajl our money for toll, ferrying and 
other expenses on the road. It might prove 
to be a serious matter to be in a strange place 
without money, and if we fail to get em- 
ployment we will be obliged to sell some- 
thing, and there is nothing we can spare so 
well as Dick. I knew the man had offered 
all and more than I could expect to get for 
him. 

But as Hillhouse was gone fishing and I 
could not think of selling my pony myself, I 
said to the man : 

**My brother is not here, and I cannot let 
him go." 

"Tell your brother to bring him to the 
ferry, and I will send you the pay for him." 

"I think you need not expect him, for I 
am sure he will not come." 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 249 

He went away without Dick, and Hill- 
house did not take him back, so I have my 
pony yet. We came five miles and camped, 
as too long a drive is not good for the pois- 
oned cattle. I wish there was a longer dis- 
tance between us and the man that wants my 
pony. 

Mr. Grier sold his riding horse at the 
ferry. He says : 

''There is a party of half a dozen gentle- 
men going to the States horseback. They 
are all supplied, except the man that wants 
your pony. He has waited, trying to find a 
horse with an easy gait, and Dick is the only 
one that has suited him. Oh, he will be back 
again. Miss Raymond, and make another 
offer, and if you do not let him have him, 
I don't know what he will do, for he seems 
determined to get him." 

If he does come I will not dare to refuse 
him, but I do hope we are out of reach of 
temptation. Dick is as fat as when we 
started. I comb and brush him every day, 



250 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

and he shows his keeping. He always looks 
nice and sleek. He is a bright bay, with 
heavy black mane and tail. 

DICK IS SOLD. OH, DEAR. 

Sunday, August 28. 

It was scarcely daylight when that hateful 
man was here again after Dick. I had just 
finished dressing when Hillhouse came to 
the wagon and said : 

"Shall I let Dick go?" 

"Do as you think best." And I threw my- 
self on the bed for a good cry. I had not 
stopped crying when he came back, and 
throwing a buckskin purse into my lap, said : 

"There is your pony." There was one 
hundred and twenty-live dollars in gold dust 
in it. I sobbed out loud. Hillhouse looked 
at me with contempt in his expression, but 
said nothing. I could not help crying. 

I know he would never sell anything that 
he loved, and I love that pony. I let the 
purse roll out of my lap down into the bot- 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 231 

torn of the wagon, and have not touched it 
yet. Of course, I knew the wagon-bed was 
tight, and there is no danger of its being lost. 
We came to Silver Lake to-day. We are 
having a fine shower of rain, which we were 
needing very much. It was some time com- 
ing, so we had dinner over and were ready 
for it when it reached us. 

Monday, x\ugust 29. 

We have traveled to-day over Snake 
River desert, nothing but sand and sage- 
brush. We watered at noon at a toll well, 
called Hole-in-the-sand, and paid ten cents 
a head for watering stock. I wonder what 
we will have to pay toll for next? 

We are camping on Camel's Creek. There 
is a family camping near us from Bannack, 
going to the States. The lady is a sister of 
Mr. Esler, one of the quartz kings of Mon- 
tana, so she says; I presume everybody 
knows about him, but I must confess I never 
heard of him until now. 






252 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

His sister is taking his motherless bab€ 
back to its grandmother. Mr. Esler's, wife 
died more than a month ago. The babe is 
about four months old, and as sweet as can 
be. I could not keep my hands off it, and 
that is how I came to get acquainted with its 
auntie. She is a great talker, seems to think 
I am going to Montana husband-hunting, 
and volunteered a deal of advice on the sub- 
ject, especially I must not tell that I am 
from Missouri, as Missourians are below par 
in Montana. She is from New York. Oh, 
dear, it makes one tired to see a full-grown 
woman so frivolous. 

Tuesday, August 30. 

We watered the stock at noon at Hole-in- 
the-rock. Didn't turn them out to graze, as 
there was nothing for them to graze on. 

Mr. Bower has lost another ox, and was 
obliged to buy a yoke of oxen to get his 
wagons over the ranges. There are two 
mountains to cross before he reaches his 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 253 

home in the Madison Valley, fifteen or 
twenty miles the other side of Virginia City. 
Of course, he had to pay a most exorbitant 
price. Joe, our ox that was poisoned, seems 
as well as ever, except his nose has peeled off 
as if scalded into a blister. 

We are camping at the foot of the last 
range we will cross before we reach our des- 
tination. 

Mrs. Kennedy and I have become quite 
well acquainted the last few days. She was 
a bride of only a few days when they started 
to the West. Her husband drives one of Mr. 
Bower's teams. They are going among 
strangers, to make them a home and fortune. 
She is a very intelligent and well-educated 
young woman. I do not know her husband 
very much. 

mother's birthday. 

Wednesday, August 31. 
Mother's birthday. She is fifty-three 
years old. We have not been able to cele- 



254 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

brate it especially, yet she is not likely to 
forget it, though spent in climbing a Rocky 
Mountain range. We have been now four 
months on this journey. Have lived out of 
doors, in all sorts of weather. It has been 
very beneficial to mother. She was looking 
frail and delicate when we started, but seems 
to be in perfect health now, and looks at least 
ten years younger. 

I have not heard her utter one word of 
complaint, either of physical suffering or 
outward discomfort, such as the heat or cold, 
mud, dust, rain, nor any of the things that 
make camping out disagreeable, and so 
many people grumble about. "What can't 
be cured, must be endured," is her motto, 
and the one care has been that we all keep in 
good health, and she would ask nothing 
more. 

We are camping in Pleasant Valley, a de- 
pression right on top of the mountain, just 
large enough for a good-sized ranch. It is a 
beautiful place, the scenery is magnificently 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 255 

grand. There is a fine grove of beautiful 
trees at the lower end of the vale. The sides 
and upper end are hedged in by straight up 
and down hills or mountain-sides, about fif- 
teen feet high. The grass is a luxuriant 
green and very plentiful. 

There is a station here, occupied by a fam- 
ily that used to live in Virginia City. They 
have two very bright little girls, who have 
spent the early evening hours with us. They 
are perfect little chatterboxes to talk. They 
have a married sister living in Virginia City, 
the wife of a Mr. Wheeler, who is a candi- 
date for some office. The little girls had 
forgotten whether for sheriff or Member of 
Congress. 

Thursday, September i. 
This is brother Mac's birthday. He is 
twenty-seven years old. I wonder if he has 
thought of it, and remembered us. I pre- 
sume he has. It has been some weeks since 
we have had an opportunity to post a letter 



256 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

to him. There have been depredations by the 
Indians, which have no doubt been largely 
reported in the newspapers, and he cannot 
know that we have escaped. His anxiety 
and suspense must be hard to bear. I know 
I should suffer agonies were our circum- 
stances reversed. 

As we were descending the mountain we 
met a freight train loaded with people re- 
turning to the States. After we had passed 
them about half a mile, Hillhouse was walk- 
ing in front of the wagons, and found a min- 
er's shovel. It is bright and shining, but not 
new. It is worn off some. The men tell 
Hillhouse it is a good omen, that he will 
make money by the shovelful. He laughed, 
and said : 'T reckon I'd better keep it, then, 
to shovel it up with.'' 

Friday, September 2. 
When I awoke in the night I heard the 
rain pattering on the wagon-cover. This 
morning the mountains were all covered 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 257 

with snow, and presented a magnificent pic- 
ture. Those nearest our camp are covered 
with pine trees of an intensely dark green. 
The snow on the boughs and beneath the 
trees gUttered in the sunshine. The scene 
was constantly changing, as the warm sun 
melted the snow from the boughs, and before 
night it was all gone except on the highest 
peaks, where it stays all summer. 

The roads have been sloppy and muddy to- 
day, though the water has all run off or evap- 
orated, so that it is comparatively dry where 
we are camping, notwithstanding there was 
so much snow and water on the ground this 
morning. It is too cold for comfort this 
evening. We are hovering around the stove 
with our shawls on. 

SWEET WATER CANON. 

Saturday, September 3. 
We came through a deep, dark canon this 
morning, and passed the grave of a man that 
was robbed and murdered last week. It is 



258 DAYS ON THE ROAD, 

the deepest and darkest canon we have trav- 
eled through. Ten men have been robbed 
and murdered in it in the last two years. 
We were in no danger of being molested. 
Only men who have their fortunes in gold 
about their person are intercepted, robbed 
and killed. How awful it seems. Why will 
men be so wicked ? 

In several places in the canon the road has 
been widened with pick and shovel, perhaps 
two or three days' work done, and we had 
to pay ten dollars toll for our two wagons 
passing over it. We stopped at noon on 
Black Tail Deer Creek. Are camping on 
the Sweet Water, about twenty-five miles 
from Virginia City. This is a beautiful 
place. There are fine large trees along the 
creek, high mountains around a lovely dale. 
It is just large enough for a fine farm. There 
is a deserted cabin here, where some one 
commenced improving a farm, became 
home-sick and discouraged, and left it for 
some one else. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 259 

Sunday, September 4. 

We are camping within seven miles of 
Virginia City, near a freight train of about 
fifty wagons, with from seventy-five to one 
hundred people all together, men, women 
and children, returning to the States. 

To hear these people talk of the disad- 
vantages and disagreeable things with re- 
gard to life in Montana, would have a ten- 
dency to discourage one, if it were not so 
palpable that they are homesick, and every- 
one knows that when that disease is fairly 
developed, everything is colored with a 
deep dark blue, and even pleasant things 
seem extremely disagreeable to the afflicted 
person. The ladies seem to have the disease 
in its worst form, and of course they make 
the gentlemen do as they wish, which is to 
take them home to mother and other dear 
ones. 

We have had a very pleasant day, about as 
pleasant as the day we started on this jour- 
ney, the first day of May. It is cheering 



a6o DAYS ON THE ROAD, 

that the ifirst and last days of our journeying 
should be so lovely. After four months and 
four days of living outdoors we are all in 
the most robust health. Yet we shall be glad 
to have a roof over our heads once more, 
even if it is a dirt roof. 

Monday, September 5. 
Noon. — Here we are camping in the sub- 
urbs of the city, in Alder Gulch, where the 
miners are at work. How I wish my de- 
scriptive powers were adequate to making 
those who have never seen gulch-mining see 
as I see, and realize the impression made 
upon me as I first looked into the gulch at 
the miners at work. There is a temporary 
bridge (very shaky) across the gulch that 
wagons may pass over. Standing on this 
bridge, in the middle of the gulch, looking 
up and down, and even beneath my feet, the 
scene is a lively one. So many men, it seems 
they would be in each other's way. They re- 
mind one of bees around a hive. And such 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 261 

active work. It seemed that not one of that 
great multitude stopped for one instant shov- 
eling and wheeling dirt, passing and re- 
passing each other without a hitch. It made 
me tired to look at them. The ground is lit- 
erally turned inside out; great deep holes 
and high heaps of dirt. The mines are said 
to be very rich. 

2 p. M. — We dined at noon to-day. Had 
beefsteak at fifty cents per pound and pota- 
toes at twenty-five cents. I do not know 
if the price had anything to do with it, but it 
certainly tasted better than any I ever ate 
before. 

I interviewed a woman — or rather she in- 
terviewed me — that lives near where we are 
camping. She said her name is Neihart. 
Her husband is a miner and earns seven dol- 
lars per day. Judging from the manner in 
which they seem to live, they ought to save 
at least five of it. I presume I did not make 
a very favorable impression, for after I came 
back to camp she called across the street to 



262 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

her neighbor — so we could hear what she 
said: 

''Some more aristocrats. They didn't 
come here to work. Going to teach school 
and play lady," with great contempt in her 
voice. 

I laughed at the first impression made, 
and tried to realize that teaching is not work. 

THE END OE OUR JOURNEY. 

Mrs. Curry, Sim, Hillhouse and I are go- 
ing to town as soon as Mrs, Curry is ready. 
We held a council whether we should get out 
our street suits and last summer's hats, or go 
in our emigrant outfits, sunbonnets and 
short dresses, thick shoes and all. Decided 
in favor of the latter. No doubt the people 
of Virginia are used to seeing emigrants in 
emigrant outfits, and we will not astonish 
them. 

Evening. — We were not very favorably 
impressed with Virginia City. It is the 
shabbiest town I ever saw, not a really good 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 263 

house in it. Hillhouse and I, after hunting 
up and down the two most respectable look- 
ing streets, found a log cabin with two 
rooms that we rented for eight dollars per 
month. Mrs. Curry did not find a house at 
all. We thought as so many were leaving 
there would be an abundance of vacant 
houses, but there were enough living in tents 
to fill all the houses that were vacated. 

Mr. Curry's folks and Mr. Kennedy's will 
go to Helena. Mr. Bower has a ranch on 
the Madison Valley. Mr. Grier will stay 
here for a time, anyway. 

The cabin is on the corner of Wallace and 
Hamilton Streets, next door to the city 
butcher. The cabin has a dirt roof. There 
is a floor in it, and that is better than some 
have. It is neat and clean, which is a com- 
fort. Men have not bached in it. 

We found quite a budget of letters at the 
post-office, the most important of which are 
from brother Mac and Frank Kerfoot. 
Mac's letter : 



264 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

Cincinnati, August lo, 1865. 
Dear Mother, Sister and Brothers: 

It is with fear and trembling that I pen 
this letter. I have not heard from you for 
more than a month, telling me you had de- 
cided to go to Montana. The papers are 
full of accounts of Indian depredations. I 
have realized to the fullest extent that ''Hope 
deferred maketh the heart sick." In your 
last letter you had decided to go to Vir- 
ginia City, so I will direct this letter to be 
held until called for. I am glad you are not 
going any farther West. I cannot conceive 
why you wanted to go to that far off wild 
Western country. I do wish you had stopped 
at Omaha, or St. Jo, or even Denver. It 
would have been better than Montana. 
With sincerest love to all, 

Your son and brother, Mac. 

But oh, the sad, sad news comes In 
Frank's letter. Neelie is dead. Oh, the 
anguish of soul, the desolateness of heart. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 265 

that one sentence gives expression to. 
Frank's letter : 

Green River, Wyoming Ter., Aug. 18. 

Dear Miss Sallie — I write to tell you of 
our very great sorrow. Precious Neelie is 
gone. We are all sorely bereaved, but how 
Uncle Ezra's family can ever get along with- 
out her, I cannot see. Any member of the 
family, except uncle, could be spared better 
than Neelie. She got very much better, and 
the doctor said if uncle would stay there an- 
other week, he was sure Neelie would be well 
enough to travel without danger of a relapse, 
but if she had another relapse she could not 
be saved. 

The Hardinbrooke train left Monday 
morning. Mrs. Hardinbrooke was much 
better. The Gatewoods and Ryans stayed 
with us. Neelie was much better. She sat 
up in bed some. That night Uncle Ezra did 
not sleep at all, he was so afraid of Indians. 
The next morning, as Neelie had a good 



266 DAYS ON THE ROAD: 

night's rest, and was feeling stronger, noth- 
ing else would do but we must move on to 
Green River, where the soldiers are. We 
started about nine o'clock, and drove twen- 
ty-five miles without stopping. It was very 
hot and dusty. Uncle drove the family 
wagon and watched Neelie carefully. After 
a time she seemed to be sleeping quietly, so 
he thought she was all right. But it was the 
sleep from which there is no waking in this 
life. 

Dr. Howard and Dr. Fletcher were both 
at Green Riv^er, and thev both worked all 
night trying to arouse her, but without suc- 
cess. At early dawn Neelie' s sweet spirit 
took its flight, and we are left desolate. 

Miss Sallie, do you remember Carpenter? 
the young man that made Uncle Ezra so mad 
by pretending to go into hysterics when the 
Ryan girls were leaving the train? When 
he heard that Neelie was gone, he went out 
on the mountain and found a large, smooth, 
flat stone, white as marble, but not so hard, 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 267 

and engraved Neelie's name, age, and date 
of her death on it, to mark her resting place. 
He worked all day upon it, and at the funeral 
he placed it at the head of her grave, and if 
you ever go over this road it will not be hard 
to find Neelie's grave. We gathered wild 
flowers and literally covered her grave with 
them. 

Darling Neelie, our loss is her gain, for 
we all know that she was an earnest, de- 
voted Christian. We will start on our now 
sorrowful journey to-morrow. I wish you 
were here to go with us, but hope you will be 
successful where you are, and happy too. 

Mrs. Hardinbrooke was much worse after 
they came here. That hot, dusty drive was 
hard on well people; for sick people it was 
terrible. When Neelie died she was very 
low, but she has rallied, and the rest of the 
train will move on to-morrow. But Mr. 
Hardinbrooke will stay here with his wife 
until she is entirely restored, and they will 
go to Virginia City on the coach. All send 



268 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

love to you all. Aunt Mildred asked me to 
write you. 

Very sincerely your friend, 

Frank. 

I believe I am homesick this evening. It 
is so dreary to go into a strange place and 
meet so many people, and not one familiar 
face. But I must not complain, for we are 
all here, not even Caesar missing. My heart 
aches so for the Kerfoots. I do not know 
how they can bear this terrible bereavement 
under such trying circumstances. 

Tuesday, September 6. 

Mr. Curry's folks have started to Helena. 
Mr. Bower's to the Madison Valley, and Mr. 
Kennedy with them, to drive his team, leav- 
ing Mrs. Kennedy with us until to-morrow, 
when they will take the coach for Helena. 

We moved into our cabin this morning. 
It does not seem as much like home as the 
wagons did, and I believe we are all home- 
sick if we would acknowledge it. 



DAYS ON THE ROAD. 269 

The boys found a checkerboard nailed on 
the window where a pane of glass was 
broken out. We pasted paper over the place. 
They made checkermen out of pasteboard, 
and Sim and Winthrop are having a game. 
Hillhouse is reading the Montana Post. 
Mother is making bread, and initiating Mrs. 
Kennedy into the mysteries of yeast and 
bread-making. 

As Hillhouse was on his way to the 
butcher shop, he passed an auction sale of 
household goods. The auctioneer was cry- 
ing a beautiful porcelain lamp. He stopped 
to make the first bid. "One dollar" he called. 
There were no other bids and he got the 
lamp — his first purchase in Virginia City. 
(He has it yet.) 

When he brought it home, with the meat 
he went to get, mother said : "What is the 
use of the lamp without the chimney?" 

So he went to purchase a chimney after 
dinner and coal oil to burn in the lamp. He 
had to pay two dollars and fifty cents for a 



270 DAYS ON THE ROAD. 

chimney, and five dollars for a gallon of coal 
oil, so our light is rather expensive after all. 
And thus ends our first day in Virginia City, 
and brings "Crossing the Plains and Moun- 
tains in 1865" to an end. 

By S. R. H. 



H 74 




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